


Breaking the Grip

by EllieSaxon



Series: Breaking the Grip [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Football John, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Mild Language, Self-Defense, Self-Defense Lessons, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock has inconsistent confidence, Sherlock is oblivious, Slow Burn, So is John actually, Teenlock, Texting, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7889305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/pseuds/EllieSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day when leaving the library, John Watson notices a kid hobble past him sporting a black eye and clutching his side. Being the caregiver he is, John immediately tries to help. It turns out the kid, Sherlock Holmes, is in a class John TAs for and categorically refuses help. But the injuries keep coming, and John is persistent, so Sherlock eventually relents and accepts John's offer of self-defense lessons.</p><p>Over the course of their lessons a friendship develops, and both John and Sherlock end up getting more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Offer Extended

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello again!
> 
> Back in April I posted this Unilock idea of John teaching Sherlock self-defense and it triggering something more. Well some people seemed to like it, and now almost five months later I've written a 55K word fic based on it. Though there are always somethings I feel could be better, in general I really like how this turned out, and I hope you do too.
> 
> This is NOT a WIP, all seventeen chapters are written. I will be editing and posting a new chapter every other day (or as nearabouts as my schedule will allow)
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. I edited as best I could, but mistakes and unintentional Americanisms are sure to slip through. Please forgive me, and feel free to point out anything off so I can fix it!
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!
> 
> Ellie/Jens

 It was late when John left the library, later than he’d originally planned on staying, being that it was a Sunday night and he had a full day of classes and training the next day. He was so busy going over everything he still had to do before he could go to bed – shower, check his chem partner’s contributions to their lab report, finish grading some more homework, the list went on – that he almost didn’t notice the boy pushing past him to enter the library. Students were constantly rushing around, so John normally didn’t pay them much mind, but something about this kid caught John’s eye. He was holding his arm awkwardly against his chest, and he held his other hand to his face, covering one eye.

“Hey, hey! Are you alright?” John asked turning back to follow the kid into the library. He never could ignore someone in need. The kid didn’t seem to hear him – or chose to ignore him – and John watched as a head of messy dark curls hurry to duck into an empty study carrel. He had about six inches on John, but thanks to a lifetime of football training, it didn’t take John long to catch up to him.

“Hey, you’re in Dr. Kiernan’s Principles of Metabolic Biochem class, right? You’re name’s Sherlock, isn’t it?” He knew he recognized him, he was the one constantly correcting the professor, and whose assignments could rival the work of a Nobel Laureate. He was not the kind of person John easily forgot.

“Yes.” The kid – Sherlock – said, sounding curt, if a bit weary.

“I’m her TA.” John smiled. “I’m John, John Watson.” He offered his hand, but Sherlock just stared at it before glancing up to look at John, a small frown furrowing his brow.

“I know.”

“Oh, right.” Of course Sherlock knew who John was, Kiernen had introduced him to the class on the first day. “Yeah, good. So…”

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Sherlock bit out, his tone sharp. “If so, would you please just do it already, so you can be on your way and leave me alone.”

“Alright then, I can’t help noticing you’re hurt…” And with that attitude, the injuries were starting to make a little sense.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” And he really didn’t. John could see he was favoring his right side, he had a split lip, and a pretty nasty bruise was starting to form under one eye along what would have been a fairly sharp cheekbone, but now just looked swollen.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“No need to be rude, alright. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” John sighed raising his hands. “I could have a look if you want?” Sherlock was obviously in some pain, why couldn’t he just accept the help?

“I said I was fine.” Sherlock scowled. “And even if I weren’t, I would turn to an actual medical professional, not just someone _studying_ medicine, _hoping_ to be a doctor.”

“How did you…”

“I don’t need help.” Sherlock said with a sneer. “You can go now.”

“Alright, alright.” John mumbled, more to himself than to Sherlock. “Just trying to be a Good Samaritan”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

“Fine, but my number’s on the syllabus for Keirnan’s class if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

John could tell when he was getting the brush off, and Sherlock – opening one of his books and staring defiantly at his laptop – was definitely giving him the brush off. He was just trying to be nice, John thought as he left feeling annoyed. Sherlock was clearly in some sort of trouble, so why wouldn’t he accept help when help was offered? Well, John would just have to keep an eye out for him from now on.

Christ, maybe Harry was right, and he did have a bit of a hero complex.

 

*******

 

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as he surreptitiously watched John Watson turn and walk away from him and out of the library. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart, because of course he knew who John was, how could he not? He made a point of finding out what he could about anyone who had any say over his academic future – advisers, professors, and in John’s case, TAs.

John Watson, third year studying medicine, serial monogamist, part-time employee of the Chemistry and Biological Sciences department, and the starting defensive midfielder for the school’s football team. In short, John Watson was a veritable golden boy.

Unfortunately, John was also probably – definitely – just like every other jock Sherlock had ever had the misfortune of meeting. And Sherlock had been on the receiving end of one too many ‘boys just being boys’ assaults, to be fooled by tussled blond hair, a kind smile, and deep blue eyes filled with what looked like concern.

No, football players, rugby player, the well liked ‘popular’ crowd, they were all the same. Whatever John was playing at – and he had to have some ulterior motive, lulling him into a false sense of security maybe – Sherlock wasn’t going to go along with it. No matter how much he might have wished John’s attentions were genuine, Sherlock wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t going to be made a fool of.

 

*******

 

It was another two days before John saw Sherlock again. He had tried going to the library the following day, hoping to find Sherlock and that he’d be more willing to talk, but no such luck. So when Dr. Kiernan’s Tuesday afternoon lecture rolled around, John was determined to talk to the tit.

 

Normally John would sit in the back of the classroom, he liked being out of the way so he could observe the class as it went on around him. That Tuesday, however, John parked himself in the front row, closest seat to the door. There was no way Sherlock could slip in or out of the room without him seeing, though Sherlock almost managed it. He seemed to know what John was planning, and when class ended he placed himself in the midst of the mass exodus of students.

“Christ, you’re a hard man to catch.” John said. His football training came in handy once again, and managed to catch Sherlock just outside the door.

“You again.” Sherlock sneered. “What do you want now?”

“Same thing as last time, to see how you’re doing. Your eye’s looking better.” The swelling had gone down and the bruise was starting transition from a bluish-purple to a more yellow color. Still, it was a nasty sight.

“Then I’ll tell you what I told you last time, I’m fine. Now leave me alone.” Sherlock scowled. John was honestly surprised he didn’t stop his feet like a toddler, the stubborn sod.

“What about your side? I noticed your carrying your bag on the left, is it still bothering you?” John asked. Sherlock could be as stubborn as he wanted, that wasn’t going to stop John from his duty. Whatever that duty was, John wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t bother thinking too hard about it.

“I’ve noticed a far few things about you too, would you like me to pester you about them?” Sherlock said, taking a step forward, using every inch of height to his advantage as he stared daggers down at John. “How is your mother dealing without her little peacekeeper around? She must have felt spoiled having you around all summer. Well, I say all summer, but really just when you weren’t at work or kicking a football around like a child.”

“Wha –”

“And your big brother, is he still losing himself at the bottom of a bottle? If only Dad could help, but he check out years ago, am I right? He doesn’t even see that there’s any problem at all.”

“How the hell –”

“See, we all notice things about each other, that doesn’t mean we have to bring it up.” Sherlock said with a final glare, and stomped away. There was the overgrown toddler John was expecting.

“That was amazing! How did you know all that?” John called after him. Sherlock froze for a second, and John thought he was going to come back, or at least respond, but instead he picked up his pace and was soon out of John’s sight.

Well that settled it, John had to find out more about Sherlock Holmes. The injuries were still the priority, but anyone who could ‘notice’ so much about him, was definitely someone John wanted to get to know.

 

And so over the course of the next few weeks, every Tuesday and Thursday, John sat himself in the desk nearest to the door in an attempt to talk to Sherlock. Every Tuesday and Thursday Sherlock brushed him off.

Being ignored would have been bad enough, but what made it all worse were the new injuries. Just when the initial bruises started to fade, others started to show up; a cut above Sherlock’s eyebrow, a nasty red mark along his jaw, Sherlock held himself awkwardly, his movements stiff.

A month after that first meeting, and John was just about at his wit’s end. Sherlock was still not responding to him, and John was fed up with him refusing his help. He still had one last trick up his sleeve, and though he didn’t really want to play it, it had to be done.

 

*******

 

“Alright class, last week’s test has been graded.” Dr. Kirnan said just as class was wrapping up. “In general, you all did well, though a few of you could have started studying a bit earlier. Remember that for next time. If you have any questions about your test, please feel free to come talk to me or John.” she added, nodding to John who was busy dividing up the tests into three piles. “Thanks, and I’ll see you all on Thursday!” She added with a smile.

“Okay everyone, your tests are up here if you want to grab them on your way out.” John called. “ ‘A’ through ‘H’, here. ‘I’ through ‘Q’ here, and ‘R’ through ‘Z’ over here.”

Sherlock hung back, waiting for the mass of students to thin out a bit before going to look for his test, only when he when over to the picked at A – H pile, his test wasn’t there. Either someone had accidentally grabbed his by mistake, or…

“Where is it?” He demanded, glowering down at John. He had been unwavering in his attempts to get Sherlock to talk to him, even when Sherlock deduced him, he didn’t stop. But if John Watson thought this pathetic move was going to work, he had another thing coming.

“Oh Sherlock!” John beamed. “So good of you to stop by. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Any new pain or notable damage today?”

“I’m absolutely perfect, never felt better. Though I do have a rather annoying pain in my arse. I think if you give me my test back, it’ll go away.”

“Oh your test, of course! If you just take a few minutes to actually talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you, I’ll be happy to hand it over.”

John actually thought his meddling was charming, it wasn’t. John wasn’t charming. He wasn’t.

“You are aware this is a form of extortion, aren’t you, John?”

“Yeah, maybe it is a bit, but it’s a harmless form of extortion.”

“Extortion none the less.” Sherlock grumbled, trying to ignore the fact that John was still smiling up at him. “I don’t even really need my test, I know I aced it. And I can just check my grade online.”

“And yet you’re still standing here.” John said, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge. “Listen, I don’t have class for another two hours, and clearly you’re in no rush, just take five minutes to tell me what’s happening. I think it’s pretty clear by now that I’m not going to let this go.”

He was probably right, Sherlock had never met anyone so persistent, so frustratingly stubborn. “Fine,” he said with a sigh, “if I talk to you, will you finally drop it?”

“Well I can’t make any promises, it all depends on what you tell me.” John shrugged. “Hey, I’m dying for a cuppa. Let’s go to the café, I’ll even pay if you want something too.”

 

It was off hours, so the café was practically empty. They had no trouble placing their orders, and John found a table where they would not be overheard. Good too, because John knowing what was going on was bad enough, Sherlock certainly didn’t need random strangers knowing too.

“Now tell me, what’s been happening that’s leaving you all bruised and limpy?” John asked, picking at the disgusting looking pastry he bought to go with his tea.

“Bruised and limpy? Is that an official medical term?” Sherlock chuckled, cracking his first smile in probably months.

“Yes, it’s highly scientific, I wouldn’t expect you to know it. Now quit stalling and spill.”

“Fine.” Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. He really didn’t want to do this. “It started a little after term began. A person down the hall from me in my residence had taken to returning late at night intoxicated, and as a result of his inebriated state, made a lot of noise in doing so. As I do most of my work late at night, it was extremely distracting, and I told him so.”

“Completely understandable. I hate when people don’t see that drunkenness is only enjoyable for the drunk, and not for those around them.” John said bitterly. There was clearly something more to that story. “So because you told him to tone it down, he did this to you?”

“Oh no, when I confronted him, he just brushed it off and ignored me. It wasn’t until I deduced him that this started. He didn’t take too kindly to me revealing his father’s gambling problem, nor that he was was seeing two other girls behind his girlfriend’s back. In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn’t have said it in front of said girlfriend, I didn’t want to cause her any emotional distress.”

“Alright, yeah I can see why someone would be a bit tetchy about that,” John nodded, “but that’s no excuse for attacking you!”

“Well he seems to think so.” Sherlock shrugged. “Since then he and his ‘friends’ have taken to shoving me or hitting me, anytime they see me.”

“That is harassment, Sherlock! It’s assault!” John said through gritted teeth. He was upset, why would he be upset about something happening to Sherlock? “You can’t just let this happen,” he continued, “you need to report this to your senior resident.”

“No, absolutely not. Filing a report would only make matters worse. I am handling it.” Sherlock could feel himself getting his back up. He wasn’t a child, he didn’t need protecting, he could protect himself.

“You’re handling it?” John snorted. “Not very well by the looks of you.”

“It looks worse that it really is.” Sherlock growled.

John rolled his eyes. “Oh I’m sure. Listen, if you’re not going to report this, you could let me help you out.”

“And how exactly would you ‘help me out’?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, give me the names of the guys doing this, and I’ll get them to leave you alone.”

“No! I don’t need anyone fighting my battles for me” Who the hell did John think he was? Sherlock didn’t need a hero.

“Getting help from time to time isn’t a bad thing” John sighed. “Fine, why don’t I teach you some basic self-defense? That way you can fight your own battles.”

“Self-defense? You want to teach me self-defense?”

“Yeah, nothing too fancy mind you. Just some block, how to escape holds, maybe some basic counter-attacks.”

“Why?” Sherlock frowned.

“Why teach you how to defend yourself? Because you clearly need it.” John smirked.

“No, why do you care?” Sherlock had been dealing with this type of thing all his life, the perils of being the only one with a functioning mind in a sea of idiots. Nobody cared before.

“Because you don’t deserve to be treated this way.” John said resolutely.

“How do you know? You don’t know me, maybe I do.”

“Because nobody deserves to be treated this way. And I don’t know,” John said with a shrug, “I like you.”

“You like me? Again, you don’t know me.” Sherlock was more confused than ever. This didn’t make any sense; why would John like him? Nobody liked him, especially not someone as personable as John.

“I know you’re insanely smart, and class is never boring with you challenging everything Kiernan says.” John laughed. “Plus I do all the grading; I’m the one reading what you write in the margins of your assignments and quizzes.”

“So because I’m a smartass, you want to teach me self-defense?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms across his chest, still skeptical.

“Yeah, what can I say, I like smartasses.” John grinned.

“No one else does.”

“Ok fine,” John huffed, “do you want to know the truth, the real reason I offered to help you?”

“Yes, why?” Of course there was another reason, Sherlock knew was more to it than just John being decent

“You see,” John said, lowering his voice, and leaning in conspiratorially, “in secondary school I was a real dickhead, just awful. I was such a dickhead, that a witch put a curse on me. Now I have to do a thousand random good deeds, or else my soul will be damned to hell.”

“You’re quite the comedian.” Sherlock sneered.

“Hey! It’s true. You’re number four hundred and forty-two, and I don’t want to spend an eternity in hell!” John’s face was the very picture of mock shock. “Or you know,” he continued, leaning back again, “it’s like I said; nobody should have to deal with constant harassment on a daily basis!”

“And how will that look, hmm? Poor little Sherlock, so pathetic he needs someone to teach him how to take care of himself.” Christ, that would only make things worse, it would give those pricks something else to use against him.

“People take self-defense classes all the time, Sherlock.” John sighed. “And hey, if it really bothers you, you don’t have to tell anyone what we’re doing. We can do it in the evenings, we can do it in private.”

Sherlock just lifted an eyebrow, clueless as he was to many things, he wasn’t completely oblivious to how that sounded.

“I don’t mean it like that.” John groaned, blushing slightly. “I just mean… whatever’s easiest for you, whatever you’re most comfortable with, I’m willing to accommodate.”

“So you’re willing to go out of your way, to make _accommodation_ s, all to help me fend off some pricks who like shoving me around? Someone you hardly even know.” Who the hell does something like that? Who the hell is that… nice?

“Alright, alright, I get it. You’re not interested, no need to make me feel like an idiot.” John said, moving to stand up from their table. “Just do me a favor, and just be careful, alright?”

“Wait, wait!” John couldn’t leave now, he was just getting interesting, and Sherlock hadn’t figured him out yet. “I’d… I’d really like it if you could teach me some ways of protecting myself.” Sherlock said softly.

“Really? Excellent!” John beamed. “Ok, so when would be a good time for you? I’m assuming sometime in the evening would be best since you want to keep it hush-hush and all.”

“When… whenever’s most convenient for you.” Sherlock said, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious about the whole thing. “You’re the one with a more hectic schedule.”

“Thursdays and Sundays are probably my best nights. We have games Friday so the team likes taking the night off before, and we never plan anything for Sundays since a lot of the guys on the team are hung over from the night before.” John explained

“You clearly used Sundays to catch up on any work you let slide over the course of the week,” Sherlock said, regaining some of his confidence with the observation, “so I guess Thursday evening.”

“Thursdays it is! We can start this week if you want.”

“Oh… ok.”

“Great! The Carrows gym closes at eight, so meet me there around eight-thirty. Does that work?” Sherlock nodded. “Great. Well, I need to run to my office and switch books, so I should probably get going. You have  my number, just text me or something so I can get yours.” John’s grin seemed to envelop half his face. “Once we’re done, those jack-holes are going to regret the day they started messing with you, I guarantee it!” He added before starting for the exit.

“Wait.” Sherlock said, stopping John before his made it to the door.

“What is it?”

“My test. You still haven’t given me my test back, that was the whole reason I agreed to talk to you.” Sherlock smirk.

“Oh yeah, right.” John chuckled, pulling Sherlock’s perfect score from his bag and handing it over. “See you Thursday I guess.” And with that, John was gone.

“Thursday, yeah.” Sherlock hummed to himself, taking a sip of his now cold cup of tea.

God, he had better have not just made a huge mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and corrections keep me young (and improve my writing), so don't hold back!


	2. Lesson One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons begin, and they're... not horrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have said this before, but don't use these as a guide to self-defense. Everything in here is my poor attempt at describing techniques. If you want to learn to defend yourself, take a class!

Tuesday transitioned into Wednesday, which became Thursday, and John still hadn’t gotten Sherlock’s number. After lecture that day, another student had stopped him with a question, so he didn’t even get to catch Sherlock then. He could have always looked it up in Sherlock’s student file – a benefit to being a teaching assistant – but that just felt like an invasion of his privacy. So at eight twenty-seven Thursday evening, John stood outside Carrows gym, not knowing if Sherlock was even going to show.

“Hello John.”

“Sherlock!” John jumped, he hadn’t even heard Sherlock walk up. “You actually made it.”

“Well yes, it’s eight-thirty,” Sherlock said, glancing down at his watch, “and you said to meet you here at eight-thirty.”

“I wasn’t sure you were coming, you never gave me your number, so…”

“My number, of course. I… uh… I guess I didn’t know if you really wanted it, or just figured asking was the proper thing to do.” Sherlock mumbled hesitantly, looking around.

“Of course I want you number, it’s a lot more convenient than trying to catch you around campus. Hey… is something wrong?” John asked, finally noticing how tense Sherlock was, turning his head to try and see what Sherlock was looking for.

“I’m just making sure this isn’t some sort of set up,” Sherlock said with a sniff, “that the rest of your team isn’t going pop out and jump me or something.”

“Oh Sherlock.” John said quietly. “I wouldn’t… I would never do that to you.”

“No, no I didn’t think you would.” Sherlock hummed, not looking at him

It actually hurt John to think that something in Sherlock’s past made the fear of being targeted and tricked a legitimate concern. Nothing Sherlock could have possibly done could warrant that level of cruelty. He didn’t really know Sherlock yet, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserved that, but something in John just told him Sherlock deserved it least of all. John was just being ridiculous.

Neither he nor Sherlock seemed to know what to say after that, so they just stood in front of the locked gym, facing each other, both looking anywhere but at the other.

“Well, I guess we probably shouldn’t be just standing around here.” John chuckled nervously after a bit, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them. Nervous? Why was he feeling nervous? He’d done stuff like this before, gone to the gym after hours.

Sherlock shook his head as if to clear it, and all earlier traces of nerves and hesitance were gone. “I have no problem with picking locks and breaking and entering, but you never struck me as the criminal type, John.” He smirked.

“Breaking and entering? What makes you think we’re breaking in?”

“The gym’s closed, the doors are locked.” Sherlock said, rattling the door. “How else would we get in?”

“With the key.” John laughed at the look of surprise on Sherlock’s face. Trust him to be expecting some complex scheme. “My flatmate is the student manager for the football team. He has keys to the gym. Sometimes I like to come and train by myself, so I made myself a set.”

“An illegal copy.” Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. “And we’re still not supposed to be here after hours, so it’s still trespassing at the very least. My initial surprise stands, I never took you for a criminal.”

John grinned and started unlocking the door. “I made the copies almost a year ago, so my crime is old news. Though let’s not add loitering to my criminal record.”

 

Carrows wasn’t the biggest gym on campus, but it was the one John and the rest of the football team favored. And with a small room off the main workout area with wall-to-wall mats, Carrows was perfect for what he and Sherlock needed.

“There’s a bathroom through there, if you want to get changed.” John said, dropping his bag in the corner, and toeing off his trainers. “Where are your clothes?”

Sherlock looked confused. “My clothes? I’m wearing clothes.”

“I can see that.” John laughed. “But I meant your workout clothes.”

“Do these not work?” Sherlock asked, looking down at himself. He was wearing a pair of expensive looking jeans and a slightly too large button-down shirt.

“No, no they really don’t. You need something loose with a bit of give, something you can move around it.”

“But this is what I wear every day. If I have to use what I learn here I’ll be wearing something similar to this.” Sherlock frowned. “Shouldn’t I learn how to move in what I’ll be wearing when I need it?”

Christ, was there nothing this kid wouldn’t question?

“Yes and no.” John sighed. “Yes, you’ll probably be wearing normal clothes, but no you should wear something loose now because it’s easier to learn the moves when you have a larger range of motion. Plus, I’d hate for you to get sweaty in those.” 

Sherlock looked away. “I don’t have anything else,” he mumbled, the uncertainty returned to his voice. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

“No, no, no! I worked too hard to get you here, no backing out now. Here, I have an extra pair of track shorts, and you can wear my sweatshirt” John said, digging in his gym bag, glad that he had thought to grab it before he left. Something had told him he might be needing it.

 

After Sherlock’s initial reluctance with the clothes – the shorts were a tad too short, a fact at which John absolutely did not laugh – the rest of their time together went fairly smoothly. They started off slow; John really just wanted to get a sense of what Sherlock did and didn’t know. Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – Sherlock didn’t know much. Beyond ‘protect the face’ he was a blank canvas. John had his work cut out for him. Well, he’d yet to back down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Punch me in the face.” John said, squaring his shoulders. He always thought demonstration was the best way to teach someone. ‘Learn by Doing’ as they say.

“I’m sorry… what? Punch you?”

John had to bit his lip to keep from laughing; Sherlock looked so confused.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I want you to try and punch me… in the face. Was I not speaking clear enough?” he added with a smirk.

“I usually hear ‘punch me in the face’ when other people are speaking, but it’s usually subtext.”

“Well this time it’s just text.” John laughed. “You’re going to try to punch me in the face, and I’m going to stop you… from punching me in the face.” 

And so, for a little over an hour, John talked Sherlock through some of the more basic blocking techniques as Sherlock tried to throw punch after punch. As with apparently everything Sherlock did, he picked it all up quickly, and by the end of their session when it was his turn, Sherlock was successfully blocking one after another of John’s ‘attacks.’ Sure John was holding back a bit, but Sherlock had made some serious progress.

 

He didn’t know why, but seeing Sherlock take to the lessons made a strange sort of pride bubble up in John’s chest. It was probably just the feeling of good deed done. That had to be it, he was helping someone out, it felt nice, that’s all it was.

“Just give me a minute to change, then I can give these back to you.” Came Sherlock’s voice, breaking through John’s thoughts.

“Give me back what?” John asked, clearing his head with a little shake.

“I said,” Sherlock huffed, “give me a minute to change my clothes, then I’ll give you back what you lent me… Thank you, by the way.” He added almost as an afterthought.

His clothes, right, he had let Sherlock wear some of his spare gym clothes.

“Don’t worry about that, I don’t need them back right away. Actually, you can give them back next time, preferably after you’ve giving them a wash.” Teaching Sherlock self-defense was one thing, he wasn’t about to start doing his laundry – even if they were technically still John’s clothes.

“Next time?” Sherlock frowned

“Well yeah,” John chuckled. “You didn’t think one lesson would be enough, did you?”

“No, but…”

“But what?”

“I just figured you’d have more important things to do than waste anymore of your free evenings on this.”

“Nonsense! I told you we’d make those arseholes regret messing with you, and I intend to keep my word!”

Sherlock smiled down at the ground, letting out a small breath of a laugh. “Thanks… again.”

They stopped outside the door to Carrows, John knew the on-campus residences were in the opposite direction from his flat, so this would be where he’d have to leave Sherlock. He didn’t really want to go just yet, but he didn’t know what else to say, so he just stood there.

“I – ah – I guess I’ll see you in lecture on Tuesday, then.” Sherlock said, finally, breaking the silence that had begun to drag.

“Well if you’re going to the football game, then maybe I’ll see you there. It’s at home this week.” Though Sherlock didn’t really seem the school spirit type, John thought, it might do him some good to get out and socialize a bit. Maybe he could even convince Sherlock to do something afterwards. John wasn’t sure why he wanted to spend more time with Sherlock, all he knew was he just… did.

“Crowded football stadium? Cheering fans? No, that’s not really my thing.” So much for that idea.

“Ah ok. Then Tuesday it is.”

“Tuesday.” Sherlock nodded. “Goodnight, John.”      

“Night. Oh and Sherlock?” John said, stopping Sherlock before he could walk away. “You did great in there, we’re off to a fantastic start.”

 

*******

 

_'You did great in there, we’re off to a fantastic start’_

Sherlock naturally never needed more than a couple hours of rest a night, but that night, sleep was particularly illusive. He laid in bed for hours – the white noise of his roommate’s snores on the other side of the room in the background – replaying every minute of the evening in perfect detail. Without really meaning to, he had stored everything in his growing mind palace. From walking up behind John all the way to John’s parting words, every word, touch, smell and sound; it was all there.

He couldn’t stop thinking about John Watson. Why had John taken an interest in him? Why was John even bothering with him when no one else ever had? Why did John seem to enjoy talking to him? Why did John smile at him? Talk to him? Why was he nice to him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about John Watson? Why was he wasting so much space in his brain on John Watson? And worse, why did he not mind?

 

The days that followed the first self-defense lesson were grueling to say the least. Sherlock could hear the noise of the crowd coming from the football pitch, and instead of focusing on the mold cultures he was meant to be cataloging, his mind wandered back to thoughts of John. Every roar and cheer had him wondering if John had just done something spectacular. He tried working on a lab report, only to remember that John would be the one to read and grade it. He decided to do his laundry, only to find John’s sweatshirt and track shorts sitting on top of the basket.

Everything he did, everywhere he looked, John, John, John! Sherlock had to get to the bottom of this. He was going to figure out John Watson, if it was the last thing he did. Surely one football playing medical student couldn’t be too hard to crack.

 

By the time Tuesday rolled around, and Sherlock actually saw John again, things had not improved. He walked in the classroom and his eyes fell almost automatically on John sitting in the back row, his usual spot. Since when had he bothered to learn John’s usual seat? When he interrupted Kiernan, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him that John thought his corrections ‘kept class interesting’. He chanced a glace over at John, only to see him laugh and smile down at his notebook.  John was genuinely amused by him.

John wasn’t put off by Sherlock’s personality, if anything he seemed to actually appreciate it. And search as he did, Sherlock could not find any ulterior motives for John’s behavior. John really was as open, up front, and honest as he appeared. As unbelievable as it seemed, every observation and every scrap of data Sherlock was able to collect all pointed to one conclusion: John Watson actually liked him. Though he wouldn’t go so far as to say John was becoming his friend – Sherlock didn’t have friends – perhaps there was a possibility for… camaraderie? A mutually pleasant association between the two? Sherlock could have that, he could definitely make that work. He just had to show that he was receptive so such an association.

Class ended one hour – and four interruptions – later, and it was time to initiate contact, time to show John that Sherlock was –

“Have you finished the analysis questions on this week’s lab yet?” came the soft voice of Molly Hooper, Sherlock’s bench mate in lab, and the only other half-way competent student in class.

Sherlock frowned at losing his train of thought. Analysis questions? Of course he had finished them.

“I finished numbers one through three alright,” Molly continued, ignoring Sherlock’s lack of response, “but I kind of hit a brick wall on numbers four and five.”

“Well you need the answer to four in order to do five.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking you if you’ve done it. Do you think you could maybe walk me through four and five, point out what I’m missing?” Molly asked, smiling weakly.

Anyone else, and Sherlock would have probably refused point blank, but Molly wasn’t nearly as thick-headed as the rest their peers, and well, her uncle did work in a morgue and Sherlock would have to be a fool to jeopardize that kind of connection.

“Fine,” he huffed, he couldn’t let her know he didn’t mind helping her out. “Just hold on a moment, there’s something I need to do.”

“Oh you’re really a lifesaver!” Molly beamed. “I’ll just wait outside, take your time.”

Right, now where was he? Ah yes, start a conversation with John first, show him that –

“Was it really necessary to point out that Kiernan mispronounced that enzyme name?”

Well, so much for being the one to start a conversation. “Absolutely.” Sherlock said, turning to face John. “Putting the emphasis on the second syllable makes it sound like it adds a phosphate group instead of removes it. Completely different function.”

“But that protein has a completely different name,” John countered, “so no one should get their functions confused.”

“You severely overestimate the intelligence of the average student, John. You see all the tests, you should know how easily confused they are.”  

“Alright smarty-pants, I get it, not everyone is a genius like you.”

Genius? Sherlock could feel he cheeks flush, and he just prayed it didn’t show too much on his face. John thought he was a genius. Well, obviously Sherlock knew he was a genius, but John said it was something akin to fondness. Just one more way John was different than anyone else, he actually seemed to like that Sherlock’s intelligence outstripped everyone around him.

“It’s the cross I bear.” Sherlock sighed.

“How do you do it?” John teased

“I’ve found ways to manage.”

The pleasant banter seemed to be going well, Sherlock could definitely get used to this. But it was probably best not to press his luck before he said something thoughtless and ruined the entire thing. _Baby steps, Sherlock, baby steps_ , he told himself.

“I – ah – I guess I should probably be going, I’m actually supposed to be meeting…”

“Oh god, yeah. Your girlfriend’s waiting, don’t let me keep you.”

“Girlfriend?” Sherlock frowned, what the hell was John on about? “Do you mean Molly? No. No, no. She's not my... no. She asked me to help her with this week’s lab. Molly’s just my… friend. Not my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend. Girlfriends aren’t really my… area.” Oh god, he was rambling.

“Oh… Oh! Right, yeah. Sorry. I – ah – I shouldn’t have assumed.” John said with a nervous sounding laugh.

Shit! Why did he say that? He had made things awkward. Now John was going to turn out to be just like everyone else, though maybe he’ll be more polite about severing ties with Sherlock ‘The Fairy’ Holmes. He knew it was too good to be true.

“I mean,” John continued, oblivious to the panic coursing through Sherlock at that very moment, “out of everyone, I should be the last person to jump to that conclusion.”

What? Why should John be the last person ‘out of everyone’ to… Of course, the alcoholic brother! He must not be straight. There was always something.

“It’s fine, John.” Sherlock shrugged. “And statistically speaking, it was a fairly safe assumption to make.”

“Still, I feel like an arse.”

“Oh, feel free to feel like an arse, just not about this.” Sherlock grinned, ducking to avoid the pen John threw at him.

“Tit.” John laughed. “Now go on, don’t leave Molly waiting. Waste my time all you want, but I can’t have you messing up her academic future.”

“I’m going, I’m going… So, I’ll – ah – I’ll see you Thursday, I guess.”

“See you Thursday!”

So he didn't start the conversation, there was always next time, but that... that went well. 

 

“So what’s going on Thursday?” Molly asked when Sherlock met her outside the lecture hall door.

"I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You and John were talking about Thursday. You two have plans or something?”

“He is the teaching assistant in our class, Molly, a class that is held on Thursdays, so it would hold that the probability of seeing him on Thursday is very high.” Honestly, Molly was one of the few non-idiots at the school; Sherlock couldn’t have her go and start becoming one now.

“But other than during class…” Molly said, her mouth turning up at one corner. “I don’t know, you two seemed kinda… friendly. I was just wondering.”

“I can be friendly.” Sherlock huffed. “I’m friendly to you, aren’t I?”

“Oh yeah, you talk to me just like you talk to John… Oh my gosh! Sherlock Holmes, you’re blushing!”

“I don’t blush!” But Sherlock could feel the warmth of his cheeks which surely showed on his pale skin. But that didn’t make it a blush, it was a warm day. “And it’s rude to eavesdrop. Now do you want help with the lab report or not?”

“Hey, the door was open and your voices carry, it’s hardly my fault…”

Sherlock glared at her.

“Right, right, sorry. Yes please, I would like help with the discussion questions. Thank you.”

Sherlock did not blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was totally blushing.
> 
> You know how they say that diamonds are a girl's best friend? Well comments and corrections are THIS girl's best friend (along with diamonds)


	3. A Sunday in the Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock end up spending time together outside of lessons, leading John to have a strange encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost my sister's birthday, so I dedicate this chapter to her. I pray to god she never finds this or any of my other fics.

Like with the first lesson, Sherlock met John outside Carrows gym on Thursday at eight-thirty on the dot, though this time he wore his own workout clothes which fit him far better than those he borrowed from John. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but John rather missed the sight of Sherlock wearing his old sweatshirt. Wrong size or not, it kind of suited him. And the shorts, well it was best he not to think about that.

 

In John’s opinion, the second self-defense lesson was going even better than the first. About halfway through, John decided to switch from practicing blocks, to teaching Sherlock some basic ways to escape grips. As with almost everything John observed of Sherlock – not that he made it a point of observing Sherlock in or out of class, Sherlock just called attention to himself – Sherlock picked up the escape techniques almost immediately. There was really only one he didn’t master after four or five tries.

“No see, when I hold your wrist like this,” John explained, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s thin – warm – wrist, “if you only move at the wrist, you’ll end up just hurting yourself more.”

“Well you told me to rotate my palm towards your hand! How else am I supposed to rotate my palm if not with my wrist!?”

“Your entire forearm has to rotate.” John sighed. “You want your elbow to pop outwards. That should give you enough force that when you snap your arm down, it’ll break your attacker’s grip.”

Sherlock tried again… and again, and each time his elbow remained in place, and each time John’s grip held fast.

“Here, let’s switch roles for a minute. Grab me as hard as you can.” John said, offering his arm to Sherlock. “See, you start with your elbow and the rest of the arm follows.” And within seconds John was free of Sherlock’s surprisingly strong grasp.

“Your shoulder moved first!” Sherlock huffed. “It was your shoulder moving that triggered your elbow to, as you said, ‘pop out’! If you had told me that in the first place, I would have gotten it!”

“I would have thought it was obvious you need your biceps and triceps for that kind of motion.” Maybe the second lesson wasn’t going so well after all, John could feel the first pinpricks of a headache coming on.

“It is now, but I was following your exact instructions! Let me try again, now that I have a proper idea of what to do.”

It worked, and it worked an additional three more times. Though Sherlock tried to hide it behind a smug indifferent, John could see the excited smile fighting to break through. All the annoyance he felt at his petulance just melted away, the look on Sherlock’s face was so… endearing.

“So do you think we should call it a night? End on a high note?”

Sherlock took a long pull from his water bottle, and John couldn’t help watching as his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Probably best too.” He said, wiping a few stray water droplets from his bottom lip – best not stare at person’s lips, John reminded himself. “It’s already almost eleven, and I meant to call Lestrade.”

A gnawing feeling flared somewhere deep in John’s core. Why did he care? It was none of his business who this Lestrade was, and why Sherlock might be calling him. “Le – Lestrade? Who’s, uh, who’s Lestrade?” He asked anyway, he was weak, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Constable with Scotland Yard, he sometimes calls whe –” But Sherlock stopped talking, his eyes wide as if he’d just said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“A police constable calls you?”

“…Yes”

“Why? Hold on… do you work for the police?” John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It couldn’t be what he thought it was, could it? Sherlock Holmes, mad mind reading chemistry genius, some kind of undercover cop? No, no he wouldn’t need John’s help to learn to protect himself if he were with the police.

“I don’t work _for_ the Yard,” Sherlock huffed, offended. “I sometimes led them my assistance when they are out of their depth, which is always.”

“And the Yard calls you, an eighteen year old kid? Why would they listen to you?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed, his whole body tensed, and his shoulders hunched as he looked to fold in on himself. Shit. “Wait, what am I saying? You’re a genius, they’d be idiots not to listen to you!” John hurried to add.

That seemed to do it, Sherlock’s face relaxed back into a look of smug confidence. “Well for the most part, Scotland Yard is full of idiots. At the moment, Constable Lestrade is the only one who recognizes my skills.”

“But he brings you in on cases?” This was amazing, Sherlock was… he solved crimes, solved mysteries, as a hobby. “Amazing!”

Sherlock flushed at this, and looked away before speaking. “Usually he just slips me the files, and then I tell him what I see. Though a few times he’s let me on the scene when there aren’t too many higher ups present.” 

John was just about to open his mouth again to ask about what kind of cases Sherlock had  solved, when his phone pinged, reminding him that it was a half hour until his self-imposed ‘night before a game’ lights out. He hadn’t even realized he and Sherlock had been standing in the middle of the deserted gym for so long.

“Damn it.” He sighed. “I’ve got to be heading back to my flat. Are you doing anything Sunday?”

“Sunday? Um, nothing concrete, no. Why?”

“Well I have to leave, but… well… you solve crimes for bloody Scotland Yard! I’ve got to know more about that, and Sunday’s my only free day.”

“You want to hear about cases?” Sherlock asked, he actually sounded surprised. 

“Of course I do! Do you have any idea how fantastic that is?” Ordinary people spend their free time playing sports, or doing art or something. Sherlock Holmes helps the police. Fantastic. 

“No one’s ever called it that before.” Sherlock cheeks were taking on a rosy hue, and John suspected it had nothing to do with their recent lesson. “I can – yeah – I can meet up on Sunday if you’re really interested.”

“Definitely interested!” John grinned. “I usually get work done in the library on Sundays. Meet at the first floor study carrels, ten o’clock?”

“Ten’s – ten’s good. Ok.” Sherlock nodded, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Excellent! So I’ll see you on Sunday. Or, hey, it’s an away game tomorrow. If you’re wanting an excuse to get off campus, you could always come.”

“I hardly need an excuse to leave campus, John.” Sherlock scoffed, though there was still a faint blush across his cheek which lessened his haughty air.

John shrugged, he didn’t think it was going to work. “It never hurts to offer, but if you change your mind…”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s all I ask. So I guess I’ll see you Sunday, if I don’t see you sooner!”

 

John watched as Sherlock disappeared towards the residences before turning to head for his bus stop. For the first time in nearly two and a half years, John was excited for the weekend, and it had nothing to do with playing football or doing something with his football mates. It was going to be great seeing Sherlock outside of lessons, academic or self-defense related. Hearing Sherlock’s police stories were going to be… well John couldn’t wait.

 

*******

 

_‘I’ll see you Sunday.’_

Sherlock was seeing John three times, twice outside of class, all in the span of one week. This had to be a new record. And Sunday, Sunday was because John wanted to hear about his work. John wasn’t put off by the cases, wasn’t put off by Sherlock’s interest in crime. John was interested; John was interested in the one thing Sherlock was truly passionate about. This mutually pleasant association might actually be feasible.

               

Friday came and went, Saturday followed – far too slowly for Sherlock’s liking – and soon it was late Sunday morning when Sherlock strolled up to John Watson at the study carrels on the first floor of the library. It was five after ten to be exact – five minutes was long enough to show he wasn’t too eager.

Deep breathe in, he could do this.

“St. Bart’s hospital? What’s at St. Bart’s hospital?” Sherlock asked, dropping down into the seat next to John.

“Gah! Geezus! You gave me a fright.” John yelped, one hand jumping to his chest. “You ought to wear a bell or something, warn a bloke.”

“Hmmm, yes, I’ve been told before that I’m ‘stealthy’”

“That’s one word for it. You’re five minutes late, I was starting to think you’d forgotten or something.”

“Five minutes? You counted?” John counted!

“Nah, more like just noticed.” John shrugged. “I mean, I’ve noticed that you’re usually early to class, and always show up right on time at the gym. I don’t know, you always struck me as Mr. Punctual.”

John noticed his schedule. It should really bother him, but… but it didn’t. “Well that’s because lessons are involved.” Sherlock said, frowning a bit. “It wouldn’t do to risk missing something that might be important later on, or risk wasting your time. I thought… I thought today was more causal. I didn’t… I didn’t know correct timing was imperative.” Had he messed this up already? Had his attempt to not look eager put John off?

“Sherlock. Sherlock, relax.” John grinned. “I’m just yanking your chain. I’m just teasing you.”

“Oh, yes…hah, right.” Sherlock wasn’t used to someone ‘yanking his chain’, someone teasing him without malice behind it, but there wasn’t a shred of malice in John open, honest smile. “You – ah – you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on at Bart’s?”

“Oh right. Yeah, I’m applying for this shadowing program they run during the summer.” John explained. “Upper division medical students get the chance to shadow doctors and junior doctors a few hours a day. We can’t touch anything, or really do anything, but it should be great experience. Plus it’s an excuse to stay in the city.”

Compliments, people like compliments. “I’m sure you’ll get it. You’ve been asked to be a TA, so you must have good grades, and – uh – you have the right… temperament?... for that kind of thing.” Oh Christ, that was pathetic.

“Fingers crossed!”

Ok, John offered up something about himself, now it was Sherlock’s turn. That’s how these things worked, right? “I’m quite familiar with Bart’s. I frequent it often.”

“Oh, you’re not sick or anything, are you?” John asked, his smile faltering at the corners.

“No, no. Nothing like that, no. Molly Hooper – you’ve met her – her uncle works pathology at Bart’s. Sometimes he lets me use the lab there, look at samples and other things.” Best not mention the dead bodies and body parts just yet.

“Oh, like for the cases you work on?” John asked, his eager grin back to full capacity. It was… nice. It was… relaxing.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me about those.” Sherlock chuckled.

“I’ve been dying to ask since you sat down, I was just waiting for an opening. What?” John said when Sherlock continued to laugh. “On Thursday, right when we’re about to leave, you dropped the bombshell that you help solve crime for Scotland Yard. How could I not want to know more?!”

“I guess you have me there, my deepest and most sincere apologies.”

“Thank you! Now, what kind of crimes have you solved? How did this all start?” John was actually giddy, nobody got giddy over cases – no one other than him, that was.

Sherlock took in a deep breath, before slowly letting it out. Well, John wanted to know, he couldn’t very well not tell him. Here goes nothing. “I’ve always noticed things and seen things other people tend to miss, and I sort of needed an outlet for it all.”

“Clearly.”

“Yes, well when I was thirteen, I read a story about a boy, Carl Powers, who had been killed in a pool during a swimming competition. It was reported as an accident, that he has some sort of seizure, but I knew something was off.”

“Ok, hold on; let me get this straight, you solved a murder at thirteen?”

“I identified a murder. I didn’t exactly… solve it.” Sherlock muttered. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to start off with his biggest failure. Not really a sure-fire way to keep John impressed, “When I went to the police to tell them what I thought, they just dismissed me. Said I was just a kid with an overactive imagination.”

“So they just dropped it?”

“Yes, officially Carl Powers’ death was a tragic accident, and whoever killed him got away with it.”

“Idiots!” John scoffed. “I mean, even if it were an accident, what’s the harm in looking deeper? Why risk a murderer going free!”

“That’s what I said.” God, where was John Watson back then? He could have really used that kind of support. “But I guess scrawny thirteen year olds aren’t all that convincing.” 

“Thirteen or not… So what was it that convinced you it was murder?” John asked, an excited fire in his eyes that seemed to ignite a foreign – though not wholly unwelcome – pressure in Sherlock’s chest. Alright, where has John Watson been in general?

“Carl never had a history of seizures,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat and tamping down the growing pressure, “or epilepsy, or any other type of neurological disorder. That, and the police recovered all of his belongings save for his shoes. It never sat well with me.”

“Clearly the killer took them as some sort of trophy!”

“Exactly!” Sherlock beamed. Somebody else actually understood. “John, you’re not actually an idiot!”

“Thank you? I think” John chuckled. “And that’s what got you started?”

“Yes. After that I wanted to prove I knew what I was talking about. I began following crime reports, my parents even got me a police scanner.”

“I can absolutely see you doing that; scrawny little you with your wild hair, looking for anything suspicious.”

“It wasn’t nearly as charming as you’re probably picturing.” Sherlock mumbled, his face feeling suddenly hot. What was wrong with him? “Except for the few times I convinced my mum or dad to call in with an ‘anonymous tip’, nobody listened to me.” He sighed. The Yard really did waste an unbelievable amount of time by ignoring him, he was – nearly – always right. “It wasn’t until about two and a half years ago that I met DC Lestrade when I was hanging around a crime scene, a carjacking. Apparently I looked suspicious, so he questioned me a little.”

“Well to be fair, you were skulking around a crime scene.”

“I don’t skulk!” John just lifted an eyebrow. Damn him. “Anyway, after he realized I had nothing to do with the theft, or abandoning the car, I told him my observations, and he actually listened.”

“Thank god for that!” John chuckled. “I was starting to lose faith in our police force.”

“Yes, well I never had much faith in them to begin with. But since then, Lestrade has slipped me case files when he thinks I might find them interesting. And then there are the occasional times he allows me into the crime scene when his superiors are busy.”

“So, come on, what kind of cases have you worked on? Anything high profile, anything I might have heard of?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “There was the kidnapping that involved a case of mistaken identity…”

 

The hours flew by as Sherlock recounted case after case, basking in John’s occasional interruptions of ‘amazing’ or ‘brilliant.’ And after a while, John started jumping in, trying to guess what happened next, who the culprit was, based solely on what Sherlock told him. He was almost always missed the most crucial aspects, but Sherlock didn’t care. Christ, why would he care when he had John sitting next to him, not only listening, but actively engaged, wanting to be even a little bit involved in Sherlock’s world?

They ignored the glares of fellow students and library staff as they talked and laughed. They snacked on crisps and granola bars, and split a sandwich John pulled from his backpack – which weren’t exactly allowed in the library, but Sherlock certainly wasn’t going to rat him out. Sherlock couldn’t think of anything more perfect. This was perfect. John was…

“So that’s how you were able to know all that stuff about me, about my family.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I – um – yes.” Sherlock said sheepishly. “I’m… sorry about that, you know. I’ve been told I’m blunt, and well, you were pestering me at the time.”

“Don’t be. It was extraordinary. Invasive, yeah, but extraordinary. What was it that gave it all away?”

Sherlock felt himself blush for the umpteenth time. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of John’s praise. “Remind me again what all I said.” He knew exactly what he’d deduced.

“You knew I was studying medicine, that I’m the peacekeeper of the family, my dad’s not really there, and has passed on his drinking problem.”

“Ah, yes. Right. Well the medicine was easy. You always seem to have one medical textbook or another with you, and you offered to treat my injuries. Studying medicine wasn’t exactly a huge leap.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that, but what about the rest of the stuff? My family stuff.”

“You had the words ‘Skype with Mum and Harry’ written on your hand the day you tried talking to me again. Plus there were a few brochures for various sobriety programs sticking out of your bag, along with an envelope addressed to a Harry Watson.” Please don’t let this be the thing to drive John away. But he wanted to know, John asked to be told. “I was just assuming you don’t refer to your father by his first name, so Harry must be a brother. Older, because well, his drinking is serious enough that you’ve looked into programs, and you’re only twenty years old.”

“Amazing! And about my dad? How’d you know he’s a drinker too?” Alright, John wasn’t getting pissed. Sherlock took this as a good sign and pressed on.

“Well, many alcoholics, especially young ones, tend to have a parent who’s also an alcoholic. You volunteered to give up your Thursday nights to spend with me, when it’s common knowledge that Thursdays are when your team goes out to pubs. That all suggests that alcoholism runs in your family, and you liked the excuse to avoid a possible problem.” He explained. “Your Skype reminder didn’t mention your father, so I can assume he’s not overly involved in your family life. And with two alcoholics in the family, and your ‘caregiver’ nature, it was a safe deduction that you  play a peacekeeping role in your home.”

“When you spell it out like that, it’s so obvious, but how you saw all that… amazing.”

“That’s the problem. Almost everyone sees but fails to observe.” Sherlock said, allowing himself to preen just a bit. John thought he was amazing, or rather his deductions were amazing. “So I got it right? I don’t usually get everything right.”

“Dad passed on his drinking to Harry. Mum refuses to acknowledge the problem, and refuses to leave Dad because she believes ‘divorce is failure’. And I was usually the one to keep things calm when problems started. But…”

“But?”

“But, Harry is short for Harriet. Harry’s my older sister, not brother.”

“Sister!” Sherlock groaned. “Harry’s your sister! There’s always something I miss!”

“Hey, the other ninety-nine percent was spot on, I think I can forgive you that minor slip. Just think of it as room for improvement, that you can get even better.”

“Better, right.” Trust John to find the silver lining.

 

They talked a bit longer, John’s plans to become a doctor, some experiments Sherlock had running, until finally it was nearing dinner time, and they’d both had enough of the library. Despite how reluctant he felt to leave John’s company – he couldn’t remember a time he enjoyed himself so much and there wasn’t a crime or intricate puzzle involved – Sherlock declined John’s offer to ‘grab some dinner.’ He was just being polite after all, John had spent almost the entire day with Sherlock, and there was no way he could actually want to spend any more time with him. Sherlock hadn’t managed to alienate John yet, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try his luck after such a successful afternoon. So once again, Sherlock and John parted, Sherlock towards his residence hall, and John to the bus stop.

 

*******

 

John wasn’t going to let it bother him that Sherlock turned him down for dinner. He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that Sherlock was uncomfortable in social situations, and perhaps an entire day together wore him out. He wasn’t going to let it bother him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a bit disappointed. Listening to Sherlock’s stories was nothing short of, well, amazing – god, he was really starting to overuse that word. Sherlock’s mind worked like nothing John had ever seen before. The way he saw thing, knew things, figured everything out with what to anyone else would be next to nothing… Amazing. And the way he got lost in his stories, his hands flying every which way, his eyes bright and excited, the smile that lit up his face when John managed to get something right, well that didn’t really hurt matters.

Now that he was getting to know who Sherlock really was, he hated the very idea that someone – anyone – would lay a finger on him. He wasn’t an idiot, John spotted the new scrapes and bruises, he knew Sherlock’s harassers were still at it. He would just have to redouble his efforts, he just had to make sure Sherlock knew enough that he could avoid anything and everything they tried to do. Actually, he wished Sherlock would just give him their names, so he could stop them once and for all.

John was so lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice the black town car pull him in front of him. The hulking man holding the backdoor open, however, was harder to miss.

“Your bus is not due to arrive for another ten minutes, Mr. Watson.” Came a cool, calm voice from inside the car. “I’d be more than willing to give you a ride to your flat, if you’d just care to get in. It’ll be far quicker.”

“I’m in no hurry. I’ll stick with the bus, thanks.” There was no way he could take the driver – bodyguard, hit man, hired muscle – one on one, but perhaps he could outrun him.

“Oh please don’t do something stupid Mr. Watson. I assure you, you are in no danger. I only wish to speak with you, so please get in the car. I can force you, you know.” Said the voice.

John didn’t know what he was expecting when he slid into the backseat of the town car, but it wasn’t a man probably only in his mid-twenties. He was dressed well, his suit probably cost more than John’s rent – several months of rent – which gave the man an air of authority, but he was still very young.

“Alright, I’ve probably just made the biggest mistake of my life getting into a strange car on the orders of a strange man.” John said, keeping his back straight, staring straight at his possible kidnapper. “What is this all about?” If he was about to be murdered, he might as well face it head on. Maybe Sherlock could be the one to solve it; that’d be a nice little ‘going away, sorry I’m dead’ present.

“As I said, I simply wanted to speak with you, Mr. Watson. One hundred and twenty-nine Fawndale Road, Jacobs.” The man said, addressing the driver – bodyguard – hit man – hired muscle.

“I have a phone. If you wanted to talk, you could have simply phoned me, on my phone. Clearly you could have found the number.”

“You are a sarcastic one, aren’t you? I can see now why he’s taken a liking to you.” The man sneered.

“He? He who?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock? What does Sherlock have to do with anything?” Shit, maybe this guy was somehow connected with the people hassling Sherlock. Maybe that’s why Sherlock didn’t want to say anything, they had friends in high places.

“Sherlock is the very reason I wished to speak with you. What is the nature of your connection to Sherlock Holmes?”

“I’m his…” God, what was he exactly?  “We’re friends.”

“Friends? Really?” The man raised a questioning eyebrow, the smug son of a bitch. “Because as far as I can tell, you went from simply being a classroom assistant –”

“Teaching assistant.” John corrected.

“Whatever. You went from that, to suddenly spending evenings with Sherlock, getting… sweaty. And now you’re having cozy little afternoons in the school library. What might we be expecting next?”

John felt a chill run down his spine, this man had been watching them, watching his and Sherlock’s movements. “Alright, who the hell are you?”

“An interested party.”

“Interested in Sherlock? Why? You’re clearly not friends.” Sherlock wouldn’t throw his lot in with someone as creepy and underhanded as this guy.

“You’ve met him. How many friends do you imagine he has?” The man laughed.

“I’m his friend.”

“You may believe that to be true for now.” The man sighed. “But I’m the closest thing to a real friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.”

“And what’s that? A stalker? Because I hate to break it to you mate, but that’s not friendship.”

“No, no. An enemy. If you were to ask Sherlock, I’m sure he’d tell you I’m his arch-enemy. He does so love to be dramatic.”

John actually laughed at that point. “Well, thank God you’re above all that.”

“Yes.” The man hummed. “So tell me, do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?”

“I could be wrong… but I think that’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t”

“You plan on becoming a doctor. That takes a bit of money, and you don’t exactly come from means. I could pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.”

This time it was John’s turn to sneer. “Really? In exchange for what?”

“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.”

“You just told me he considers you his arch-enemy. Why the hell would I give you information?”

“Because I worry about him, constantly.”

“That’s nice. But my answer’s no.” Who the hell did this guy think he was to think John would ever betray Sherlock like that?

“I haven’t mentioned a figure.”

“Don’t bother.” Sherlock didn’t trust easily, that much was clear, and no amount of money could make John sever something so rare. No, absolutely not. Sherlock’s trust and friendship was worth more than money.

“You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Watson. You’re very loyal, very quickly.”

“No. I just don’t spy on people – on friends – for money.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, but John could feel the man watching him the entire way until finally they pulled up in front of John’s flat.

“Thanks for the ride.” John said flatly. “And if you would be so kind, never come near me or Sherlock ever again.” He got a sick thrill of slamming the door before the man could reply.

 

*******

 

 _[20:18]_     _I think I just met a friend of yours – JW_

_[20:22]_ _Friend? I don’t have friends. – SH_

_[20:23]_ _Well, he said he’s your arch enemy – JW_

_[20:23]_ _Oh him. – SH_

_[20:24]_ _Did he offer you money to spy on me? – SH_

_[20:24]_ _Yeah – JW_

_[20:26]_ _Did you take it? – SH_

_[20:27]_ _Hell no! – JW_

_[20:28]_ _Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time – SH_

_[20:29]_ _Sherlock, who was it that just kidnapped me? – JW_

_[20:32]_ _My useless excuse for an older brother. He seems to have got it stuck in his head that he has a right to monitor and control my life. I try to forget he exists, I would advise you do too – SH_

_[20:32]_ _You have an older brother? – JW_

_[20:33]_ _Unfortunately – SH_

_[20:34]_ _Any more relations I should be aware of? Kidnapping might get in the way of things – JW_

_[20:36]_ _No, just Mycroft. He’ll probably leave you alone for the most part now – SH_

_[20:37]_ _For the most part? – JW_

_[20:38]_ _Well he does have a tendency to stick his nose were it doesn’t belong. Again, I advise you to just ignore him – SH_

_[20:41]_ _I’ll try. Kidnapping notwithstanding, I actually had a great time today – JW_

_[20:45]_ _Me too – SH_

_[20:46]_ _Good :) – JW_

_[20:47]_ _Was that supposed to be a face? – SH_

_[20:47]_ _Yeah, a smile. Too weird? – JW_

_[20:49]_ _No, it’s fine. – SH_

_[20:50]_ _Good ;) – JW_

_[21:04]_ _:)  – SH_

_~***~_

_[20:50]_ _Leave John alone – SH_

_[20:52]_ _I’m just looking out for you, baby brother – MH_

_[20:53]_ _I can look out for myself – SH_

_[20:55]_ _Because that worked out so well in the past – MH_

_[20:56]_ _This isn’t like that. John’s not like that, he’s not Victor – SH_

_[21:01]_ _I think I might actually have to agree with you on that one – MH_

_[21:03]_ _Fuck off Mycroft – SH_

_[21:03]_ _Language – MH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up re-watching the kidnapping scene from ASiP SO many times to get John and Mycroft's conversation down (with my own little additions). And I just spent an hour playing with the formatting of these damn text conversations, only to go back to my original format >:(
> 
>  
> 
> See you next update where our boy's connection and _friendship_ continues to develop and grow.
> 
> Like I said in my note at the beginning of the chapter, it's almost my sister's birthday and I'm sure she'd love it if you all left some comments or corrections!


	4. Crime Scenes and Late Night Chinese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New feelings emerge and are realized as John and Sherlock grow closer, and their lives begin to intertwine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless I add stuff to future editing, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter of the fic.
> 
> And just a heads up, things are _starting_ to get a tad steamy. Enjoy

As the weeks wore on after that Sunday in the library, Sherlock noticed that things between him and John seemed to shift. John would invite him to go to the café with him after class on Tuesdays, when they both had a couple hours free, and Sherlock found himself accepting. They talked for longer and longer after – and sometimes during – their Thursday night lessons. And if they happened to spot each other on campus, they would smile and give a little wave. Sherlock would actually smile and wave at another human being, willingly.

However, there weren’t any more days like that Sunday. Not for lack of trying on John’s part though. No, every Thursday John would invite Sherlock to his football games, and every Thursday Sherlock would decline. That Sunday, that entire day they spend together, was so perfect, so wonderful, that it could never be repeated.  Sherlock knew it was impossible to experience another day like that. Grabbing tea and sharing a pastry or two at the café, or talking after self-defense was fine, it was manageable; Sherlock could keep himself in check. Anything longer than tea, or a post-workout chat, and he would be running the risk of ruining what he’d built with John. That Sunday was the anomaly, and it was an anomaly that Sherlock didn’t dare try repeating.

 

“I think we’re ready to try chokeholds now.” John declared one Thursday in late October.

“Chokeholds?”

“Yeah, grabbing someone around the neck? It cuts off blood and air, keeps a person immobile. You know… a chokehold.”

“Oh I know what a chokehold is,” Sherlock let a small smile creep across his face, “I was just wondering if you’re actually tall enough to reach my neck.”

“Funny. You’re a funny one.” John said, giving Sherlock a shove. “I’m short, yeah, but I can still reach that swan’s neck of yours!”

Sherlock frowned. Swan’s neck? Did he have a swan’s neck? Isn’t that meant to be a compliment, comparing someone to a swan?

“I’d – I’d like to see you try.” Sherlock stumbled trying to recapture some of his earlier teasing bravado.

“Just watch me.”

Alright, John cocked an eyebrow and licked his lips; that had to mean something, right? Was John… no, no he couldn’t be. No, he was just teasing Sherlock back, that was all.

The silence began to stretch, they just stood there staring at each other, John with his cocky grin and Sherlock feeling at a loss for the first time in… in forever. Sherlock had to do something, say something, anything, before he did something incredibly foolish.

“So,” Sherlock cleared his throat, “Ch – chokeholds.”

“Yeah, right, chokeholds” John  nodded, a ghost of the smirk still on his face. “There are a lot of different types, but the two most common are the arm around the neck, attack from behind, and the hands around the neck, attack from the front.”

“I do know that, John. I work with the police, remember.” Shaky start, but his confidence was returning. Sherlock had this, John Watson was not going to trip him up again.

 

He did not ‘have this’. Sherlock refusing to let John trip him up, proved far easier said than done. They started off with the attack from behind – apparently it’s the one people who aren’t intent on actually killing you use. Don’t struggle, get pressure off the windpipe, and drop down fast. Explained simply, but in practice? Extremely difficult, though the difficulty had nothing to do with technique.

As with all their lessons so far, John demonstrated each move himself first. That meant he had to be in a chokehold, that meant somebody – Sherlock – had to wrap his arm around John’s neck, had to have John’s back pressed against him, had to feel as  John ‘dropped down fast’… down Sherlock’s entire body. Not good.

After two – disappointingly – quick demonstrations, John and Sherlock swapped places, and that proved even worse. Short as he was, John still managed to get an arm around Sherlock’s neck, but because of their height different, Sherlock was pressed back against John in a way that he could feel every single contour of John’s chest and abdomen. Distracting, so distracting. And he couldn’t seem to master the quick drop, instead Sherlock ended up sliding – far too slowly – down John’s front. Counterproductive. Not good. Very, very, not good.

 

“Do you want to do it face to face now? I mean,” John laughed self-consciously, “do you want to learn how to deal with an attack from the front now?” John’s voice sounded a bit huskier, a bit more on edge. Fantastic, Sherlock had managed to make him uncomfortable with his botched escape attempts. But was it really Sherlock’s fault that attack was so… intimate? Maybe he could have tried harder to escape quicker, but it felt… No, Sherlock was still learning, he couldn’t be expected to be perfect.

“Yeah. That – that might be… good.” Sherlock hummed, looking away. “This is the method someone intent on killing me would use, right?”

“To incapacitate versus just restrain, yeah.” John nodded. “And this one’s easier, at least I think it’s easier.”

“Easy? Easy’s good.”

“I’m just going to –”

“Yes, I know, we’ll do it on you first, then I can try. Must we go through this every single time?” Really, they’d been doing these lessons for weeks and they always did it the same way. Did John really think that Sherlock, of all people, would forget?

“Alright, Snippy! You’re going to face me, and place your hands on my neck. Don’t actually choke me.”

“Yes John, I know. I’m not going to actually strangle you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. Honesty baffled him sometimes, a lot of the time.

“Well I’d stop you before you did any real damage, but I’d rather avoid the whole thing.”

“John, I’m seconds away from having your trachea under my hands, do you really want to challenge me now?”

“Hmmm, I do like a challenge.” John smirked, raising an eyebrow. “But yeah, I’ve never actually been big on having my airways constricted.”

Did John just imply… He really needed to stop doing that, it was distracting. How was Sherlock meant to stay focused, stay in control, when John did things like smirk at him, snickering like he knows he’s so damn funny, his left cheek getting that single dimple? Control, Sherlock needed to regain control.

“Hands on your neck. Now what?” He could feel John’s pulse under his fingers, it was… elevated.  

“Right… so I’m going to bring my hand together like this,” John explained, clutching his hands together above Sherlock’s forearms. “And I just jerk them down. See, it’s enough force to break your grip! Added bonus, you’re now a bit off balance, so I could probably sweep your leg, giving me more time to make a break for it.”

Sherlock just nodded. Strictly speaking, it may not have been John’s escape maneuver alone that him off balance.

 

John did one more demonstration before it was Sherlock’s turn, and oh, John’s hands against his neck. The feel of John’s callused hands – football players didn’t even use their hands, right – against his skin sent a shiver down Sherlock’s spine. This may actually be worse than they what they were doing before. Now John could see his face, could see the effect he was having on Sherlock, staring at him with those eyes, those frustratingly dark blue eyes. Please let him not see, let him not observe. Please let him not get the wrong idea, whatever that may be, seeing as Sherlock himself didn’t fully understand what was going on inside his own head.

Mind over matter, control. Sherlock successfully managed to break John’s – admittedly loose – grip after two tries. However, the problem occurred when he attempted John’s little ‘sweep the leg’ suggestion, and ended up getting his own leg tangled with John’s, and came crashing down in a tangle of limbs, landing right on John’s chest. He had never been this close to John before, he felt his heart racing in his chest, he felt short of breath – and he suspected the fall had nothing to do with it – he felt like he was… _oh!_

“Did you know that the honey bee’s wings beat at more than two hundred beats per second?” Sherlock said, blurting out the first thing to pop into his head. “That’s what causes the stereotypical ‘buzzing’ sound. They can also fly up to six miles at a time and fly as fast as fifteen miles per hour.” What was he doing? Oh god, he was panicking. Sherlock never panicked, then again he also never…

“Fifteen? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Fast little suckers.”

“Yeah.”

There was a brief moment of silence as John seemed to consider… something, and then suddenly Sherlock felt John start shaking, devolving into a fit of giggles. It was contagious and Sherlock soon found himself joining John, laughing harder than he had in a long time.

“I’m sure I make a comfortable cushion,” John sighed, his chuckles subsiding, “but I think your elbow is embedded in my spleen, Bee Boy.”

“Oh right, sorry!” Sherlock said, scrambling to detangle himself and stand up. He refused to acknowledge the pang of disappointment that accompanied the loss of that closeness.

“Hold on,” he frowned as he offered John a hand, “did you just call me ‘Bee Boy’?”

“Well, if the shoe fits.” John shrugged, pulling himself up. “I know I suggested trying to knock your attacker down, but you coming down with him – on top of him – bit counterproductive.” He smirked.

“It’s not like I intended –” but the rest of Sherlock’s protest was interrupted by his phone pinging.

 

_[21:07]_ _Got a B &E. Homeowner knocked out. All expensive electronics in plain sight left behind. Interested? – GL_

 

A case! Yes, a case was just what Sherlock needed. If it got his mind off the feeling of John Watson pressed against him – no matter how much he liked having John Watson pressed against him – he would take it.

“Would you be terribly displeased if I cut this evening’s lesson short?” Sherlock asked, already moving to pull a change of clothes out of his bag and heading for the bathroom.

“Oh… Oh no, no it’s fine.” John said, sounding a bit…disappointed. “Something important come up?”

“Text from Lestrade. He’s got a burglary that he’s willing to let me in on.”

“Oh god! Yeah, don’t let me keep you. Go save the world!”

“Solving what is sure to be a simple burglary is hardly saving the world, John.” Sherlock chuckled as he walked back in to the mat room to find John has changed his shirt. If he had just been a few seconds quicker, he might have caught sight of… No, no he had to focus on the case, not on John’s chest, probably damp with sweat, his abs… Focus!

“Saving the world by taking one criminal off the streets at a time. You’re an unsung hero, Sherlock Holmes, an unsung hero.”

“I do my best.”

“You do.” John hummed. “So I guess… I guess I’ll see you Tuesday then; unless you come to the game tomorrow. It’s away this week.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile to himself, same thing every week. “See you Tuesday.”

He was almost out the door when a thought struck him, maybe… It was worth at least asking, what was the harm in asking?

“You wouldn’t… maybe… you wouldn’t be interested in coming along, would you?”

“What? Are you serious? I’d love to!”

“Really?” Listening to the stories was one thing, but wanting to join him? How could someone like John Watson be real?

“Yeah!” John grinned. “But wait, won’t I get in the way? I don’t want to get in your way.”

Would John get in the way? The Yard certainly does, and he’d certainly never wanted someone with him before.

“No, absolutely not. You should come.”

 

*******

 

Less than twenty minutes after leaving Carrows, John was following Sherlock out of a cab, past the flashing blue lights of a police car, and into an honest to god crime scene. He couldn’t believe his luck, he absolutely loved hearing about Sherlock’s cases, picturing Sherlock dash about as he retold and relived his adventures, but now he was going to see Sherlock in action. It wasn’t just stories anymore; he was going to see it firsthand.  John couldn’t stop grinning, though perhaps that was a tad inappropriate, a woman had been attacked and her house burgled.

“So what’s special about this case?” Sherlock called as they approached a man John guessed was DC Lestrade. His hair was going grey, but as they got closer, it was clear he was probably only in his late twenties.

The man didn’t even bother looking up from the paper he was holding. “And what makes you think there’s anything special?”

“You won’t have called me if it was just a cut and dry assault and burglary, there’s something interesting about it. So… what is it?”

“Fine fine. Nothing gets by you.” The man chuckled. “Like I said in my text, everything of actual value was…” he paused when he finally looked up and, looking past Sherlock, spotted John. “Uh I’m sorry, but… who are you?”

“Oh god, yeah sorry, I’m John, John Watson. I’m a friend of Sherlock’s.” Shit, he knew he shouldn’t have tagged along. Regular people weren’t allowed on active crime scenes. Sherlock was invited, he wasn’t. “I can just wait back there until you’re done, yeah?”

“Wait wait wait. You’re John? He’s John?” the man said, looking to Sherlock. “As in the ‘muttering under your breath’ John?”

“Yes this is John.”

“Hold on, do you talk about me?” John grinned, nudging Sherlock.

“Your name may have come up once or twice.” Sherlock mumbled, his face lighting up in the maddest blush John had ever seen. Oh this was too perfect, Sherlock talked about him when he wasn’t around. Sherlock thought about him when he wasn’t around. “Can we get back to the case?”

“Well I guess I’m ‘muttering under his breath’ John.” Now there was definitely no way John could keep from grinning, even if he wanted to. “And you must be DC Lestrade, the lone non-idiot employed by Scotland Yard.”

“The lone non-idiot, that’d be me. But you can call me Greg.” Lestrade – Greg – said, offering John his hand. “This one here is always mumbling under his breath about how ‘John might like this’ or ‘maybe John will think this is interesting.’ If I’m being honest, I was starting to think he’d made up PA to keep track of all this thoughts.”

“Sounds like something he’d do.” John laughed. “But nope, I’m real.”

“THE CASE!” Sherlock’s irritated voice broke in, his face turning an almost alarming shade of red. “There’s been a burglary. Can we talk about the case, please!?” He was adorable when he was embarrassed. John probably shouldn’t be thinking that about his friend, but, well he was. There was no denying it; John found Sherlock adorable, among… other things.

“Right, you can come in, but just don’t touch anything.” Lestrade said, beckoning both John and Sherlock forward.

“Honestly, the way he talks to me, you’d think this was my first robbery.” Sherlock muttered as he moved to follow Lestrade

“Investigating, not perpetrating right?” John chuckled.

“Of course.” Sherlock smirked, and John could have sworn he saw glimmer of something in his eye. Very reassuring.

“At around nine o’clock, the home owner, Vanessa Rachlin, returned home from dinner with colleagues,” Lestrade explained, stopping them in the entry. “The front door was unlocked, and upon entering, she found two intruders. According to Mrs. Rachlin, before she could do anything, she was hit over the head and blacked out. She woke up a little while later on the couch, and that’s when she phoned 999. The thing is, we already got an call from a neighbor – they didn’t give their name – who’d overheard the altercation, so we were already on our way.”

“Is Mrs. Rachlin alright?” John asked, cutting off whatever Sherlock was about to say.

“The paramedics just checked her out and she’s fine.” Lestrade said. “She has a mild concussion. Her friend is staying with her until her husband can get here.”

“And where exactly is the husband?” Sherlock asked.

“He took their sons up to Edinburgh to visit his parents. Mrs. Rachlin was supposed to go with them, but had to work. She was planning on joining them this weekend. He’s on his way down now.”

“Excellent. I’d like to speak with Mrs. Rachlin now.” John knew that look, he knew that tone. Sherlock was on to something.

Lestrade hesitated for a moment before relenting. “Fine, but just please be considerate of her state. She’s had quite a fright, and got a nasty bump on the head.”

“I always behave appropriately to the situation.”

Trying and failing to hold back a snort, John earned himself a frown from Sherlock. But in the few months he had known him, appropriate behavior and Sherlock Holmes did not seem to go hand in hand.

However, all concerns over Sherlock’s behavior soon vanished as John hung back and watched him sweep the room and begin questioning Mrs. Rachlin. To watch Sherlock work was, for lack of a better word, brilliant. Not only did he manage to convince Mrs. Rachlin and her friend that it was perfectly reasonable for Scotland Yard to consult with a teenager, but also got her to recall everything, even the slightest, most seemingly insignificant details of the incident. Just as Lestrade had told them, she walked in on the burglary, startling the two intruders, and it was the shorter of the two – a woman – who knocked her out. She was knocked out standing in the doorway to the living room, but awoke on the couch along with a cold compress, and phone placed on the table next to her. After doing an inventory of the house, all the electronics, and the vast majority of Mrs. Rachlin’s jewelry – including a few very expensive pieces – remained untouched. In fact, the only things taken were a few of Mr. Rachlin’s family heirlooms, and they only really held sentimental value.

“Before deciding to take this investigation further, Mrs. Rachlin, I believe you’re going to want to speak with your step-daughter.” Sherlock said once he had apparently heard enough.

“Step-daughter?” Mrs. Rachlin looked confused. “I don’t have a step-daughter.”

“Dear lord, how hard did she hit you?”

“Sherlock.” Lestrade said warningly.

“Apologies.” Sherlock huffed. “I’m talking about the woman who appears in quite a few of your family photos.” He explained pointing to one picture of what John assumed was Mrs. Rachlin and her family, and there standing next to Mr. Rachlin, was a young woman in her early twenties.

“Oh you mean Emily. No, Emily isn’t my step-daughter, she’s my husband’s little sister. Well, not his actual little sister. Eric mentored her in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program when he doing his masters in social work, and she sort of just became part of the family.”

“That’s because she is part of the family, she’s your husband’s daughter.”

“How could you possibly know that?” John asked, finally breaking his silence. He believed him of course, but he heard everything Sherlock had heard, saw the same pictures as Sherlock, so what was it that made Sherlock so sure that this Emily was Mr. Rachlin’s daughter?

“Seriously?” Sherlock frowned, looking from John to Lestrade to Mrs. Rachlin and back to John. “I can’t be the only one to have noticed the strong family resemblance between them. What must it be like in your brains, it must be so peaceful not being me. They have the same eye to nose ratio, and not to mention the asymmetry of their smiles, and they exact same eyes.”

“But no…That – that doesn’t make any sense.” Mrs. Rachlin said, looking even more confused. “Eric – he would have told me.”

“You’re going to have to confirm with your husband,” Sherlock continued, ignoring the interruption, “but given their apparent age difference, your husband must have been very young when this Emily was conceived, probably still a teenager. Your husband was young, he had a bright future ahead of him, and a child would ruin his plans, the mother’s too. Their parents made them put Emily up for adoption.”

“Didn’t you say Emily grew up in a foster home, Nessa?” Mrs. Rachlin’s friend asked, speaking up for the first time that evening.

“Yeah, with an older couple. They ended up adopting her, but yeah.” Mrs. Rachlin said quietly, still sounding stunned.

“I knew it!” Sherlock grinned, jumping to his feet. “But your husband, he sounds like the caring sort, social worker and all that. If he knew he had a child out there, he’d want to know that she was alright, he’d want to know his daughter.”  He was completely in his element, and John could only stand and watch transfixed. “Perhaps he used his burgeoning contacts in the social work field to find out what happened to her. The mentor program would have been perfect, he could get to know his daughter, be part of her life. It was his attempt at taking some responsibility.”

“Fantastic.” John breathed, then quickly cleared his throat as Sherlock turned to look at him, a small smile on his face.

“Alright Sherlock, assuming you’re correct about this,” Lestrade piped up, “how do you know Emily is involved?”

“It still doesn’t make sense. Eric’s always made sure she knows she can always come to him if she needs anything. She’s on top of all her classes in university; never been in any trouble before. Her adoptive parents left her a bit of money when they passed, so I don’t see why she’d need to steal from us.” Mrs. Rachlin was sounding more and more distraught. “And why would she attack me? We’ve always gotten along so well. And our boys, she loves our boys. It just doesn’t make any sense, why would she steal from us? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Suddenly something clicked in John’s head. “Your attacker moved you to the couch; they left you with a cold compress for when you woke up, and your phone to call for help. Sounds to me like they cared about you a bit.”

"Exactly, John! Exactly!” John had to fight to keep from flushing red as Sherlock beamed at him. Sherlock’s proud smile was not something he could ever get used to. “I’ll bet anything that the neighbor who called was actually your step-daughter, ensuring you got timely medical attention. And you said it yourself, the burglars only stole some of your husband’s family heirlooms, nothing of any real monetary value. They would only mean something to someone in the family.”

“But… but why?” Mrs. Rachlin asked.

“Maybe she found out the truth about your husband being her father?” John offered. “Maybe she resented not being acknowledged as an actual part of the family?”

“John, you’re not nearly as much of an idiot as you pretend to be!”

“I guess the company I keep has been rubbing off on me.” John smirked as the color rose to Sherlock’s cheeks.

“Ha – um – yes.” Sherlock hummed clearing his throat and turning to Lestrade. “I’m sure when you question Emily, she’ll tell you just that. She felt betrayed by someone she trusted and to who she looked up; she felt she was made a tangential member of her own family. The things she stole belonged to her family, a family she was denied knowledge of, and she felt she was owed that much. And honestly, she only stole a portion of the heirlooms, what should have been her share all things being equal, which is rather reasonable in my opinion.”

“Better ways of going about it though.” Lestrade sighed. “Alright Mrs. Rachlin, I’m going to need Emily’s contact information so we can ask her some questions.” Mrs. Rachlin nodded. “Good. I also think you should probably get some rest, you’ve had a very difficult evening.”

“And you may want to speak with your husband.” Sherlock added.

 

“I knew you were good, but what you did in there, Sherlock, that was something else!” John said as they left the Rachlin home, earning himself another embarrassed – adorable – blush from Sherlock.

“It was all rather simple.” Sherlock mumbled.

“Yeah to you maybe.” When he explained it, yeah, it all made perfect sense, but it was like Sherlock could just look at a scene and put everything together in a matter of seconds. Sure John might have seen everything Sherlock saw, but Sherlock understood it.

“You did well also… after I got you thinking. You saw that the intruder showed care for Mrs. Rachlin, and you figured out Emily’s motive.”

“I did, didn’t I?” John preening a bit, feeling buoyed up by Sherlock’s semi-praise.

“Yes. You could actually prove to be rather helpful. After a bit of practice, of course.” Sherlock added with a smile.

“Oh, of course.”

They soon fell in to a companionable silence as they made their way to a main road. John didn’t feel the need to say anything, to talk, just walking along, Sherlock at his side was enough, it was comfortable. Being with Sherlock was comfortable.

“So are you just going to head back to campus now?” John asked. They were nearing a bus stop he could take back to his flat, and he could see some cabs on the road up head, but, well…

“Not yet I don’t think. After cases, even ones as simple as this, my room feels so… dull.” Sherlock huffed. “Though I completely understand if you want to leave. I know you have your night before a game ritual, I’ve kept you out late as it is.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s more of a goal really, nothing’s set in stone. I can sleep on the bus tomorrow anyway.” Truthfully, John didn’t think he could stand for the evening to end just yet. “One night out isn’t going to hurt anything, I don’t think.”

“Well in that case, I know a Chinese restaurant that stays open late; hungry?”

“Starving.” 

                 

*******

 

“… and you’ll only ever find that kind of wear pattern on the door of a good restaurant.” Sherlock finished saying just as their waitress set down their drinks, conveniently allowing her hand to brush along Sherlock’s. She had been flirting with him since the moment they walked in the door, and being very obvious about it.

Normally Sherlock would have said something – told her that he _really_ wasn’t interested – but the glare on John’s face gave him pause. Things had been going so well up to that point. Still buzzing from the case – and the company – he and John discussed what they thought would happen next, Sherlock predicting how long it would take for Emily to confess. But every time the waitress appeared – to show them to a table, to bring them water, to take their orders – John would get quiet and frown. He couldn’t really be so upset that the waitress had picked Sherlock to flirt with instead of him, could he? John had countless women falling over each other to flirt with him, and he had to know that Sherlock had no interest in the waitress. John just had to turn on the charm, and she’d forget about Sherlock as a lost cause in seconds. But John wasn’t turning on the charm, he just glared down at the table until the waitress left, then it was like before, chatting – and praising – away. Sherlock didn’t understand it.

Thankfully the waitress finally seemed to take the hint when Sherlock didn’t react to her pressing her chest against his back as she put down his plate, and left them to eat their food in peace. He felt John’s chest against his back earlier in the evening, how could she ever hope to compare? How could anyone ever hope to compare?

 

“I’m not kidding, I must have put in a good thirty hours in last week studying for that test.” John said swallowing down a mouthful of broccoli beef. “Tied for second highest score in the class, so it was worth it, but I am definitely scratching cardiology off my list.”

“Tied for second highest? Maybe you should have done a couple more hours.” Sherlock smirked

“Oi!” John laughed, flicking a piece of beef at him. “We don’t all need to come in first all the time to prove that we’re clever.”

“Hmmm, maybe.” Sherlock hummed. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, I understand your interest in medicine, but it’s so time consuming. Why didn’t you pick an easier fall back field like most of the other members of your team?”

“Fall back?” John frowned. “Medicine isn’t my fall back. I’m going to be a doctor when I leave Uni.”

“I don’t understand why. I mean, obviously you have the intelligence needed and are well suited for medicine, but most people in your position would be eyeing a career as a professional football player.”

“I’m well suited for medicine. Ta, for that.” John chuckled. “I like football, I do, and I know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for football, but I’ve never wanted to play professionally. Well, maybe I did when I was five, but not now.”

“You don’t want to make millions of pounds, and have women throwing themselves at you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to millions of pounds. But yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. I want to do more with my life, you know.”

John wouldn’t say no to millions of pounds, but he never said anything about women throwing themselves at him, Sherlock noted. Was it really too much to hope for that women may not actually be John’s glass of tea? No. No, Sherlock’s seen the way women look at John – and how could they not – and the way John looked back. No, John liked women, he just wasn’t a womanizer.

“Well, if medicine doesn’t pan out, you have the makings of a professional footballer, so you can always have that on which to fall back.”

“Thanks. It’s good to know someone believes in me, sort of.” John laughed. “Wait, how do you know I’m any good?”

Shit. “The school has one of the top ranked teams, and you play a starting position.” Sherlock mumbled. “You have to be good.”

“There are plenty of people who start who never make it professionally. No, you’ve been to a game, haven’t you?” John grinned. God it was a nice grin.

“I… ah… I might have gone to the last home game.” Sherlock blushed. Truthfully, he hadn’t missed a single home game all season since that first one John invited him too. In all honesty, it was curiosity that made him stop by in the first place. He wanted to know what was so great about kicking a ball up and down a grassy field that made John devote so much time to it. He still didn’t know what was so great about the game itself, but after seeing John play it, Sherlock couldn’t stay away. John was so coordinated, so powerful, so determined as he ran back and forth across the pitch, it was mesmerizing. Not to mention the uniform and the way John looked in it, especially when he was sweaty and breathing hard from the game.

“I’ve been trying to get you to go to a game for ages! Why didn’t you tell me you came? You should have said hi, we could have hung out afterwards.”

“I didn’t want to get in your way, I didn’t want to impose.” He didn’t want John to see the effect his playing had on him.

“You’re never an imposition, Sherlock, never.” John sighed. “Remember, I’ve been trying to get you to come out and watch.”

“Ok, maybe I didn’t want you getting a big head or anything. I didn’t want you to think you could convince me to do things I initially didn’t want to do.”

“Too late, I know now.” John beamed again. Anymore of that and Sherlock was afraid his heart would skip an unhealthy number of beats. “So I expect to see you at the game tomorrow!”

“If memory serves,” Sherlock’s memory always served, “you said tomorrow is an away game.”

“Fine, next week then. I want to see you front row center in the stands. With a flag… And an air horn… and your face panted!”

“Somewhere in the middle of the stands, no paint, and I might be persuaded to call out a ‘woo’ if the team does something particularly good.” Sherlock countered.

“I’ll take what I can get. You have yourself a deal!”

“Deal” Sherlock smiled, taking John’s outstretched hand to seal their agreement. John’s hand was so warm, the calluses felt… nice against Sherlock’s palm, and if Sherlock let his grip linger for a few extra seconds, John didn’t seem to notice, or say anything.

 

Later that night, after he grudgingly left John outside the restaurant – was he crazy or did John seem to linger a bit too – Sherlock lay in bed with his head full. It was not thoughts of the case and the girl taking back her inheritance, nor the next set of experiments he wanted to start, that kept him awake, it was John. His mind raced with thoughts of John. John on the case, telling him he’s amazing. John at the restaurant, smiling and laughing and making him promise to come to the next football game. John in the gym, so unbelievably close. Sherlock could still feel the warmth John’s broad chest press flush against his back. Sherlock could still feel John’s strong arms slung loose across his neck. How easily Sherlock could have just turned around, pulled John even closer, and taken – given – what he wanted. What would it have felt like without the cotton barriers of their t-shirts? What would it feel like to have John’s hands on his body, John’s skin against his? Grateful his roommate was away for the weekend, Sherlock allowed his hands to wander.

As he took himself in hand for the first time in over a year, Sherlock was completely unaware that only a few miles away, John’s mind raced with thoughts of him. Sherlock was completely unaware that John stood in the shower, his forehead against the cheap tile wall with water running down his back, remembering the feel of Sherlock’s body sliding down his, and imagining what it would be like to push away that single dark curl and taste the skin right at the base of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock was completely unaware that just as he was picturing John’s hands all over him, John was sliding his hands down his own body, through the water and the soap, pretending they were Sherlock’s. And so together but apart, Sherlock and John both bit back moans as they found completion in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could these two idiots be anymore obvious and oblivious. I hope the boys jacking it wasn't too off putting, but this is rated 'E' (more E stuff to come obviously) so it couldn't be too much of a shock.
> 
> And just so you know, I did a google search of "neat bee facts" when writing this chapter. That's how dedicated I am to this story.
> 
> As always, I love to hear what you think, so drop me some comments and corrections!


	5. Noticing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's growing connection does not go unnoticed by those around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a filler chapter. Mostly I wanted to show that even though there are _feelings_ between the boys, there's also an actual friendship, a flirty friendship but a friendship all the same.

John noticed the fundamental shift in his relationship – his friendship – with Sherlock after what he privately dubbed ‘The Night’. The night he got to go to a crime scene and Sherlock invited him into his world. The night he finally understood that he would never fully understand how remarkable Sherlock was. The night he finally started to admit – if only to himself – that what he was feeling for Sherlock wasn’t strictly friendly. After ‘The Night’ he and Sherlock seemed to get into sync, their lives just clicked into place.

Whenever possible, John joined Sherlock on cases. It was like a drug, the Rachlin case gave him the taste, and after that he was lost, he was addicted. They would meet up at the library or in the café during free periods, or in his office during what were supposed to be his office hours, they would talk about cases both active and cold. The case talk gave way to conversations about school, classmates, family, discussions about life, the past, and the future. They debated the relative importance of knowing about the solar system, following current events, and the legalities of ‘borrowing’ police evidence. Meeting up during free periods gave way to getting together on the weekends – they always just happened to run into each other. Sherlock started showing up to his football games, first hanging around in the back of the bleachers, and then eventually sitting front row center. Every home game – and the occasional away game – John could count on seeing Sherlock trying to look bored but cheering all the same. There were still the weekly self-defense lessons, but they became just one more thing he and Sherlock did together.

 

John wasn’t the only one to notice this change, the rest of his team seemed to take notice too.

“Are you ever going to tell us her name, Watson?” Paul Warren – starting sweeper – asked after practice one Wednesday about a month after ‘The Night’

“Whose name?” John hummed, toweling his freshly showered hair. It was still early and he wanted to try and catch Sherlock in the library to go over the Dunbar blackmailing case some more.

“Your Thursday night girl.”

John’s stomach dropped. “Wha… What? No, it’s not… I don’t have…” He started to stutter.

“Did you seriously think we wouldn’t notice that you’re _never_ available Thursday nights?” Paul laughed, along with about half the team. “Every time we’re going out, you’re always ‘busy’ or have ‘already made plans’. Your weekends are starting to get pretty busy too. So come on, who is she? Is she hot?”

“There’s no girl. Really, there’s not!” John said when Paul raised his eyebrow. “I’m just… I’m just tutoring a guy in the class I TA for, and Thursday evenings work best for our schedules.” Not technically a lie – it was how it all started – but Christ it felt wrong saying it. Thursday nights – and weekends, and random weekday afternoons – with Sherlock were so much more than ‘just tutoring.’

“Well, is he hot?” Alec Masterson – striker – piped up “I mean, taking up _every_ Thursday…”

Was Sherlock hot? Sherlock was gorgeous, so unbelievably gorgeous. Those eyes that could never settle on one color, blue one second, then green the next, then grey the next; those eyes that lit up as he got lost in an explanation of an experiment or a case. His dark curls, so wild, yet seemed to inexplicably always fall perfectly in to place, even as he was bounding around a crime scene. And those lips, those pink, full lips with that perfect cupid’s bow that rattled off facts, deductions, observations, or criticisms at a mile a minute. How he ached to kiss those lips, to run his tongue across them, nip at them, part them to get even the smallest tastes as he worshiped Sherlock’s mouth. No, Sherlock wasn’t hot, he was perfect, and god how John wanted him.

John wanted Sherlock so badly it sometimes hurt. But he couldn’t _have_ Sherlock, it was wrong, it was inappropriate. For one thing, he was Sherlock’s TA, and for another he was Sherlock’s friend and Sherlock wasn’t interested in that kind of stuff. He was meant to be helping him, teaching him how to protect himself. Sherlock was trusting him – and Sherlock’s trust was hard won – John couldn’t be objectifying him, lusting after him, John couldn’t allow himself to take advantage of that trust. But still John desperately wanted him. Whether he was with him or not, there was hardly an hour in the day that went by that John didn’t think about Sherlock. And it only got worse at night, at night there were no distractions. John would lay in bed replaying conversations, reliving even the most minuscule things they’d done together, imagining what they could do – what he wanted to do. Countless nights John spent thinking about how Sherlock’s body felt pressed up against him during their training, or those times in his office when Sherlock would lean over his shoulder or sat on his desk. Countless nights he had to keep his fist in his mouth to keep himself from screaming Sherlock’s name as he imagined backing Sherlock up against the wall, Sherlock’s long legs wrapped around his waist. He imagined pulling Sherlock off the desk and into his lap, or pushing him back flat onto the desk. Night after night he imagined himself ravishing Sherlock as Sherlock moaned for more and called out John’s name. It was wrong, it was inappropriate, and he vowed to never act on his growing feelings, but dear god did John want Sherlock Holmes.

“It’s not like that. He’s… he’s not like that.” John blushed, avoiding the actual question. He hadn’t even realized his bisexuality was that obvious. He didn’t exactly hide it – and he wasn’t ashamed of it – but he just always preferred girls. Hell, besides that almost thing with James last year, he had only felt a passive attraction to other guys; but now this thing with Sherlock. Of course whatever he was feeling with Sherlock was like nothing he’d experienced before, guy or girl, so it was a bit hard to compare.

“Sure it’s not.” Paul huffed skeptically. “Mike, you two share a flat, what’s the real story with Watson and this mystery pupil?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, mate.” Mike Stamford – student team manager and John’s fellow med student and flatmate – shrugged. “No seriously, all I know is that John does some tutoring. I don’t know who the students are.”

John had never been more grateful for Mike’s friendship than he was in that moment, he could have kissed him. He knew he talked about Sherlock ad nauseum, and more embarrassingly, he knew he was not always as quiet as he may have wished at night. While John never actually confided in Mike his feelings for Sherlock, Mike wasn’t an idiot, he could put two and two together.

“Thanks for covering for me back there.” John mumbled to Mike once the topic of conversation had blessedly shifted.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea to what you’re referring.” Mike smirked. God bless Mike Stamford.

 

John was honestly a little worried that things would feel awkward once he arrived at the library. With the semi-interrogation he got in the locker room, how could it not be awkward? But the second he laid eye on Sherlock, and Sherlock smiled at him and kicked out a chair across from him, everything else – the team, the questions – just melted away. They had a blackmailer to catch.

 

*******

 

Pounding up the stairs and skidding down the hallway, Sherlock made his way to John’s office. He did it, he finally did it! And it was all because of John, he had to tell him!

Not even bothering to knock, Sherlock burst through the door – it was open a crack anyway, so it’s not like John would have minded. “Good, you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here, it’s my office hours.” John said, looking up from his laptop to grin at Sherlock. “You’re out of breath, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I just ran here. Actually, I’m better than fine. I did it! I finally managed to do it!”

“Did what? Oh wait, did you finally figure out who’s been leaving Mr. Mccullough those freaky notes?”

“No. I mean yes I did that too, but it’s not that.” Sherlock was now bouncing on the balls of his feet. God, John was going to be so proud.

“Ok, so what’s got you all… springy?” John asked, waving his hand at Sherlock.

“Springy? How am I springy?”

“You’re like a coiled spring all ready to bounce around. Springy.” John explained. “So what is it? What did  you do?”

“Springy. You’re ridiculous John. And you’ve got me off track,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “I came here to tell you that he tried to grab me again just now. Came up behind me and tried to wrench my arm behind my back –”

“Shit.” John’s smile fell as he pushed back from his desk and moved to get up. “Are you alright? How’s your arm? Do you want me to take a look at it?”

“I told you I’m fine. I said only he tried to grab me.” Sherlock grinned. “But I did that thing you showed me. I spun out of the hold, and used the momentum against him. He didn’t know what happened, one minute he had me by the wrist, and the next he was being slammed face first into the wall.”

“Sherlock that’s… Sherlock that’s fantastic!”

“His cronies were there too, so they saw the whole thing which made it even better. But he did turn his face just in time, so unfortunately there won’t be any lasting damage.”

“Ah, who cares about lasting damage, you showed that piece of shit what happens when you try to mess with Sherlock Holmes.” John beamed. “He’ll think twice about harassing people like that again. I can’t believe it, I mean I can. Just… God, Sherlock, that’s amazing. I wish I was there to see it!”

Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat, John was standing in front of him now, hands clamped on his shoulders, beaming up at him. Sherlock knew for sure he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “I wish you had been there too.  I’d never had been able to do if it if it weren’t for you. You taught me everything.” And suddenly his arms were around John, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I did, didn’t I?” John chuckled into Sherlock’s shoulder, his arms moving to wrap around Sherlock’s waist and return the hug. It felt amazing. “I make a pretty good teacher.”

“The best.” Sherlock breathed.

It took him an embarrassingly long time – or an embarrassingly long time by his standards, in reality it was twenty seconds at the most – to realize they stood there, arms wrapped around each other, for far longer than a normal thank you or congratulatory hug should last between friends. Reluctantly he let his arms fall and Sherlock took a hesitant step back from John.

“Sorry. I – ah – I got a bit carried away there.”

“Don’t be. I… I didn’t mind.”

Silence fell over the cramped office after that, but it wasn’t the usually companionable silence Sherlock so often enjoyed with John. This silence felt tense, awkward, he hated it.

“You – uh,” John said, clearing his throat and breaking the strained, uncomfortable, hateful silence, “you said something about figuring out who is sending those threats to Mr. Mccullough?” Sherlock could have kissed him. He wanted to kiss him.

“I did. There was that faint apple smell I couldn’t quite place…”

 

After explaining that Mr. Jackson Mccullough’s future sister-in-law – the head fermentation microbiologist at Brackwell Family Press Cider – started sending increasingly disturbing letters in hopes of putting a stop to the wedding after she discovered Jackson was sleeping with his trainer – and chemist and mechanic – Sherlock sprawled himself across the two spare chairs across from John, while John turned his attention back to his laptop. 

“I still don’t understand what we’re still doing here.” Sherlock whined, throwing back his head. While being with John was better than being alone by a mile, better than anything, that didn’t mean he didn’t still get bored. “Lestrade has some cold cases for us, but he’s refusing to deliver them. Let’s go pick them up.”

“Well _I’m_ still here because I have twenty minutes left of office hours. You can head over to the Yard and I can meet you there when I’m done if you want.”

“Please, you’ll never take a cab on your own and it will take forever you to get there on the tube or a bus at this hour. I’ll just be stuck waiting around for you there.” Sherlock huffed.  “No, it’s better if we just go together.”

“Alright, so just hang in there another twenty minutes, and then we can go”

“But why are you even holding office hours now? You’ve never held them on Mondays before.”

“Man you’re fussy when you’re bored.” John snickered. “I added extra hours because it’s almost Christmas, and revision week is next week, then it’s finals. People might show up and have questions.”

“But no one _has_ shown up.”

“Well maybe they did, but then they heard you in here and thought I was busy.” John was teasing him; Sherlock liked it when John teased him.

“Is this your way of saying you want me to go?” Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Nope, that’s not what I was suggesting, not even slightly.”

“Good. And anyway if someone really needed help and had any brains, they’d have knocked or made their presence known. Someone else being in here shouldn’t be a deterrent. I come in all the time when there are other people in here.”

“Yeah you do, but I don’t think you’re a good example.” John countered. “Your visits never have anything to do with the class, and more often than not you insult the person in here… while simultaneously answering their question and making them more confused.”

“Uuuhh, that’s because their questions are so simple.” Sherlock groaned, slumping forward to rest his forehead on the desk. “The answers are usually right there in the slides. I really don’t understand how you can stand all the tediousness of being a TA.”

“Yeah, well I probably wouldn’t have met you if I wasn’t a TA, so I think a little bit of tedium is worth it.”

John thought meeting him was worth the tedium, worth dealing with idiots. “Nonsense,” Sherlock mumbled into the desk, “we would have met anyway.”

“Why Sherlock Holmes, are you saying you think fate wanted us to meet?” Sherlock could hear the grin on John’s face.

“Fate? Really John, you can’t be serious.” Sherlock said, sitting up and fighting back a blush. “No, I mean we still would have run into each other at the library that day. You still would have been nosy and pushy, and insisted on ‘helping’ me. It’s in your nature. Being a TA just made it easier.”

“Ah, so you’re saying we were _destined_ to meet? And none of those air quotes around helping. I think your victory today is proof enough that my being nosy and pushy did help.” God, even when he was trying to be smug John was endearing.

“Shut up.” Sherlock grumbled, his face hot as the blush won out and bloomed across his face.

“Admit it, my being pushy helped you.”

“Yes, fine.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” If only John knew how true that was.

He was getting dangerously close to slipping and saying something stupid, he had to change the subject. “Since there are clearly no students here in need of your assistance, what are you pecking away at so diligently over there?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, I finished making all the study guides for my own classes, so I thought I’d make one for you guys.” John explained. “Well, it’s more of a handout for you to make your own. Figured if I pass it out tomorrow, that’ll give you enough time. Have a look, what do you think?”

As Sherlock leaned over John’s shoulder to get a better look at the document on the laptop’s screen, he could hear John hold his breath, he could feel him shiver. Shit, he’d made John uncomfortable... again. “Looks… uh… yeah, looks good. Should be… um… should be very helpful. Nice of you make it, thoughtful.”

“Consider it my Christmas gift to the class.” John said, his laugh sounding nervous. “Speaking of, what do you Holmes’ do for Christmas?”

“Mummy always insists we spend Christmas at the house in Kent. She thinks the scenery is more ‘befitting the season’ than here in London. The second the calendar flips to December, it’s all Christmas carols, eggnog, and decorations. I’ve never met a grown woman who gets as excited for Christmas as my mother, and father only ever indulges her.” He would never admit it out loud, but he too was rather fond of Christmas, everything decked out in decorations, everything but the tree that is. The tree was to be trimmed on Christmas Eve and never a moment sooner.

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the point of Christmas; getting excited and indulging the people you care about. I think it sounds great.”

“Yes, I guess it is rather nice.” Sherlock shrugged. “What are your plans for the holiday?”

"It’s back to my parent’s place in Aldershot. It may not be as idyllic as your Christmas at the country estate, but it’s nice too. It’s the one time of year Dad puts forth some effort.” John sighed. “And Mum always finds a way to make it special each year. Every year she decorates the Christmas tree yard with a different theme. Like last year, she staged a battle of little plastic trolls against aliens; another was four little pyramids of oranges. Oh, and one year she made an entire pipe cleaner village.” He smiled, getting lost in the memories.

Sherlock felt his stomach twist. The way John’s eyes shone, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he grinned; John really was… he was stunning. “You’ll have to tell me what she does this year.” He said, swallowing hard.

“Definitely. Oh, and before I forget.” John said, opening up his desk drawer and pulling out an oddly shaped package, wrapped in paper covered in laughing Father Christmases. “It’s nothing much, I just saw it one day and thought of you. Just don’t open it until Christmas Day, and don’t even think about trying to deduce what it is. I purposely put it in a different box.”

“You got me a present?” No one had ever given Sherlock a Christmas present before, no one other than family. Though he’d never had anyone in his life like John before, not really; and Victor didn’t count. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t have anything for you yet.”

“You don’t have to get me anything. Like I said, it’s nothing much. It just reminded me of you. It’s not even really a Christmas present, if I had found it in April, I’d have given it to you then. The timing was just convenient for the holiday.”

"Thank you.” Now he definitely had to find something for John, something really good.

“You’re welcome. Now come on, nobody’s going to show up in the next ten minutes, and if they do, they’ll just e-mail me.” John smiled, shutting his computer and grabbing his bag. “Let’s go see a man about some cold cases!”

John was perfect, Sherlock thought as he followed him out the door; absolutely perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, there are a few of my family Christmas traditions thrown into this chapter. We don't decorate the tree until the 24th, and every Christmas morning my mom decorates the yard (the pipe cleaner village, trolls vs aliens battle, and orange pyramids were all real)
> 
> Christmas break is next, so the next chapter is going to be a little different, but I hope it works.
> 
> Once again, I love comments and corrections like Sherlock loves John.


	6. Christmas Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Christmas break upon them, John and Sherlock aren't going to let something as trivial as being in separate cities keep them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just an excuse for the boys to shamelessly and unabashedly flirt over text.
> 
> I want to apologize in advance if the format looks strange, I have very limited formatting skills. I hope it's not too distracting.

 

**[17. December]**

 

 _[13:06]_     _Please kill me! – SH_

_[13:08]   Kind of hard to do from a train – JW_

_[13:08]   Figure out a way to do it remotely – SH_

_[13:09]   I saw you not even a half hour ago, what went wrong in 30 minutes? – JW_

_[13:10]   When Mycroft told me he’d send a car to take me to the house, he failed to mention he’d be in it – SH_

_[13:13]   Oh dear, an hour and a half in the car with your brother. How will you survive? – JW_

_[13:14]   I won’t. This is torture – SH_

_[13:15]   Well you can text me if you want. I have another 51 minutes left until my station, and my battery is fully charged.  – JW_

_[13:15]   You are a godsend, John Watson – SH_

_[13:16]   I do my best – JW_

_[13:20]   Mycroft’s put on 8 pounds since I last saw him – SH_

_[13:20]   I just told him so – SH_

_[13:21]   I bet he was thrilled to hear that – JW_

_[13:22]  He wasn’t – SH_

_[13:22]   Insists it’s only 4 – SH_

_[13:23]   Poor sod’s delusional – JW_

_[13:24]   Finally someone understands – SH_

_[13:25]   :) – JW_

_[13:35]   I think the woman across from me is having an affair – JW_

_[13:36]   Send a photo – SH_

_[13:38]   *MMS*_

_[13:39]   Very funny. A photo of the woman, not you – SH_

_[13:40]   Oops! Sorry ;) – JW_

_[13:40]   *MMS*_

_[13:42]   She’s not having an affair, she’s going to propose – SH_

_[13:42]   Ok genius, how do you know that? – JW_

_[13:43]   She’s keeping her hand on something in her purse, but her phones on the table – SH_

_[13:43]   And she appears to be making a list of reasons she loves someone – SH_

_[13:44]   Amazing, all from a picture – JW_

_[13:44]   Child’s play – SH_

_[13:45]   Nah, you’re brilliant – JW_

_[13:54]  :) – SH_

_[13:56]   *MMS*_

_[13:56]   What’s his story? – JW_

_[13:58]   Investment banker. Raised in Ireland. On his way to meet his birth mother for the first time – SH_

_[13:59]   There’s no way you could possibly know that! – JW_

_[14:02]   You’re right, I made it up. He is an investment banker though – SH_

_[14:03]   You’re an arse – JW_

_[14:04]   How fast the compliments dry up – SH_

_[14:05]   You’re a brilliant arse – JW_

_[14:05]   :) – JW_

_[14:06]   We’re pulling into the station now. Gotta find Harry. Text you later – JW_

_[14:07]   Don’t go now! – SH_

_[14:07]   I’m still stuck with Mycroft, and we hit traffic! – SH_

_[14:15]   You’ll survive – JW_

_[14:16]   No I won’t. You’re a traitor, abandoning me in my time of need! – SH_

_[14:17]   I’m the worst – JW_

_[14:18]   ;) – JW_

 

~***~

 

**[19. December]**

 

_[01:33]   Mycroft has a paramour – SH_

_[01:40]   What? – JW_

_[01:41]   A significant other. Someone with whom he is in some sort of relationship – SH_

_[01:43]   I know what a paramour is. How do you know he has a paramour? Did you meet them? – JW_

_[01:45]   He’s constantly texting someone ever since we arrived, and at all manner of times – SH_

_[01:46]   That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Doesn’t he work for the government? - JW_

_[01:48]   He’s smiling at his phone. And I hear him Skyping, but when I enter the room, he shuts his computer – SH_

_[01:49]   Ok, that’s a bit more suspicious – JW_

_[01:51]   He claims she’s just a colleague, but nothing I’ve overheard sounds work related – SH_

_[01:52]   Well good for him – JW_

_[01:54]   In what world is this good ? – SH_

_[01:56]   Maybe if he’s distracted with this colleague, he’ll butt into your life less – JW_

_[01:57]   I doubt it – SH_

_[02:00]   We can still dream – JW_

_[02:01]   If only that worked. – SH_

_[02:02]   What are you doing awake at this hour? – SH_

_[02:05]   My idiot friend started texting me because he found out his brother may or may not be dating someone – JW_

_[02:06]   Oh, did I wake you? – SH_

_[02:07]   No. I was just watching a movie – JW_

_[02:08]   I should let you get back to it – SH_

_[02:09]   It’s fine, I’ve seen it before – JW_

_[02:10]   Why are you still awake? – JW_

_[02:11]   Can’t sleep, too disgusted – SH_

_[02:12]   Because Mycroft might have a girlfriend? – JW_

_[02:12]   Precisely – SH_

_[02:13]   Go to sleep – JW_

_[02:14]   You’re not asleep – SH_

_[02:15]   I’m going to go to bed now, so I will be soon – JW_

_[02:16]   Boring – SH_

_[02:17]   Yep – JW_

_[02:18]   Try reciting the periodic table or something. You can be boring with me! – JW_

_[02:20]   I mean you can go to sleep, but obviously not with me. Just at the same time, but there – JW_

_[02:21]   Go to bed, John, you’re rambling – SH_

_[02:22]   Goodnight Sherlock – JW_

_[04:08]   Goodnight John – SH_

~***~

 

**[21. December]**

 

_[19:11]   So Harry just announced she’s going to be a social worker – JW_

_[19:15]   With her history? – SH_

_[19:15]   No offense – SH_

_[19:16]   None taken. That was my first question – JW_

_[19:17]   Needless to say she’s not talking to me now – JW_

_[19:20]   You asked a reasonable question – SH_

_[19:21]   Family doesn’t see it that way. Mum’s mad that I’m not “believing in Harry”, and Dad’s mad that Mum’s upset – JW_

_[19:23]   All I said was that becoming a social worker is tough work, and maybe she should wait until she’s really sober to pursue it – JW_

_[19:24]   Again, reasonable – SH_

_[19:25]   Surely your family has too see you’re just being realistic. It’d be crueler to let her get her hopes up – SH_

_[19:30]   Yeah, I should still probably go apologize. I don’t want the holiday to get spoiled by something like this – JW_

_[19:31]   You are far more accommodating than I – SH_

_[20:26]   Ok, she forgave me – JW_

_[20:26]   We talked and she understood that she has to kick the booze before she can do anything else – JW_

_[20:27]   She’s going to look into the treatment programs once the holidays are over. Keep your fingers crossed she does it – JW_

_[20:28]   Me being more accommodating is not really news ;) – JW_

_[20:29]   Not sure what crossing my fingers will achieve, but consider all appendages crossed – SH_

_[20:30]   Glad peace has been restored – SH_

_[20:33]   Just a typical Wednesday at the Watson home – JW_

_[20:34]   The crossed appendages are much appreciated – JW_

_[20:36]   Anytime – SH_

_[23:48]   Thank you – JW_

_[23:49]   You’re welcome – SH_

~***~

 

**[22. December]**

 

_[10:42]   Are we still on for Skype this afternoon? – JW_

_[10:45]   I believe so. My plans haven’t changed – SH_

_[10:46]   Neither have mine. Just checking. 4 still good? – JW_

_[10:46]   Yes. Mycroft has an appointment at 4, so he shouldn’t be around to be a bother, though that’s never stopped him before – SH_

_[10:48]   Great, I can’t wait to see that ‘thing’ you discovered in your yard – JW_

_[10:49]   And see you too, I find I’ve missed your stupid face – JW_

_[10:53]   Well I haven’t missed yours – SH_

_[10:53]   :( – JW_

_[11:00]   :) – SH_

_[15:58]   Signing on – JW_

~***~

 

**[24. December]**

 

_[18:27]   *MMS*_

_[18:29]   Oh my god! Are you wearing antlers?!?! – JW_

_[18:30]   Mummy’s friend made me wear them – SH_

_[18:31]   Give your mum’s friend my deepest thanks – JW_

_[18:33]   Thanks? This is humiliating – SH_

_[18:35]   Well why’d you send me a picture of it if it’s humiliating? – JW_

_[18:36]   So you could bear witness to the suffering I must endure – SH_

_[18:40]   Oh it’s not that bad. I think you look… DASHER-ing – JW_

_[18:43]   Was that a reindeer pun? – SH_

_[18:44]   … Maybe – JW_

_[18:45]   Pathetic – SH_

_[18:46]   ;) – JW_

~***~

 

**[25. December]**

 

_[09:18]   Happy Christmas! – JW_

_[09:30]   Happy Christmas – SH_

_[09:31]   Did you get anything good? – JW_

_[09:33]   ‘100 Years of Unsolved English Crime: 1850-1950’ – SH_

_[09:34]   So you like it? – JW_

_[09:35]   It’s amazing. Thank you – SH_

_[09:36]   Don’t mention it! – JW_

_[13:10]   A 3 YEAR SUBSCRIPTION TO THE LANCET!?! – JW_

_[13:11]   Oh good, it got there in time – SH_

_[13:15]   Sherlock, I seriously don’t know where to start. Thank you – JW_

_[13:16]   It was nothing. It’s what friends do, right? – SH_

_[13:20]   You’re the absolute best! – JW_

_[13:25]   I’m really not – SH_

_[13:26]   Oh but you really are – JW_

_[22:09]   I forgot to ask, what was your Christmas tree yard? – SH_

_[22:11]   A bunch of plastic ice cream with either American or Mexican flags stuck in them – JW_

_[22:12]   *MMS*_

_[22:12]   It was the battle of the ‘a la mode’ – JW_

_[22:14]   Now I see where you get your terrible puns – SH_

_[22:14]   :p – JW_

_[22:15]   Ok, what was that face supposed to be? Or was that just a typo? – SH_

_[22:16]   It’s supposed to be me sticking my tongue out at you – JW_

_[22:18]   Ah, then :p back – SH_

_[22:19]   You’re learning! – JW_

~***~

 

**[27. December]**

 

_[11:52]   Are you taking Kiernan’s class next term? – JW_

_[11:55]   Obviously. It’s a two term course, and switching professors halfway through would be foolish – SH_

_[11:56]   Why do you ask? – SH_

_[12:01]   I’m still her TA and I just wanted to know if I still had my favorite form of in-class entertainment – JW_

_[12:03]   Entertainment? Is that all I am to you? – SH_

_[12:04]   Pretty much :p – JW_

_[12:08]   Because of that, I’m not going to speak once for the entire class unless explicitly called upon – SH_

_[12:10]   *MMS*_

_[12:10]   Oh really, there’s no need to pout – SH_

_[12:12]   What do you expect, you just took away the one thing that makes lectures interesting - JW_

 

_[12:12]   I’ve already taken the class, I need something to keep me occupied – JW_

_[12:13]   You’re just going to need to figure out something else. My lips are sealed – SH_

_[12:15]   I don’t think you’re capable of staying silent the entire time – JW_

_[12:16]   You’ll crack the second someone says something even slightly incorrect or asks a ‘stupid question’ – JW_

_[12:16]   I could do it – SH_

_[12:17]   Sure you can – JW_

_[12:20]   I could, but I won’t – SH_

_[12:20]   Only because I would hate for you to be without a form of entertainment – SH_

_[12:21]   You’re so selfless – JW_

_[12:22]   I know. You’ve been a terrible influence on me – SH_

_[12:25]   ;) – JW_

~***~

 

**[30. December]**

 

_[03:57]   If I died, would you organize my funeral? – SH_

_[09:03]   Just saw your text. Are you still alive? – JW_

_[09:05]   Yes, I made it through the night – SH_

_[09:06]   That’s a relief. What’s wrong? Are you ok? – JW_

_[09:08]   I’m fine now. My mother keeps putting satsumas in front of me, and I made the mistake of eating them – SH_

_[09:10]   Ate too many of them? – JW_

_[09:10]   Yes – SH_

_[09:11]   Well I’m pretty sure no one’s died of a satsuma overdose. – JW_

_[09:13]   No one’s died yet – SH_

_[09:14]   Please tell me you’re not going to do some experiment to figure out the lethal dose of oranges – JW_

_[09:15]   I’m not now – SH_

_[09:17]   Good, I don’t want to have to deal with you when you have heartburn or kidney stones. You’d be a nightmare – JW_

_[09:20]   So you’d abandon me in my time of need? Again  – SH_

_[09:25]   No, but I’d still not like to have to deal with it – JW_

_[09:25]   And what do you mean, again? – JW_

_[09:27]   You abandoned me when I was stuck in the car with Mycroft at the beginning of break – SH_

_[09:29]   Oh that. But you pulled through – JW_

_[09:30]   Barely – SH_

_[09:31]   But at least you’ve agreed to attend to me if I have a medical issue. Befriending a future doctor seems to have come in rather handy – SH_

_[09:34]   Oh god – JW_

_[09:36]   :) – SH_

~***~

 

**[1. January]**

 

_[00:00]   Happy New Year, John – SH_

_[00:00]   Happy New Year!!! – JW_

_[00:01]   Damn! You beat me to it! – JW_

_[00:01]   Sorry – SH_

_[00:03]   It’s fine. I’ll just be first next New Years! – JW_

_[00:10]   That sounds like a challenge – SH_

_[00:12]   Bring it, Holmes! – JW_

_[00:13]   I’ve just scheduled the text to go out at midnight next New Years Day. I’ve already won – SH_

_[00:14]   Well I just scheduled one too. So let’s just see whose phone is the quickest  – JW_

_[00:15]   We shall see – SH_

_[00:16]   :) – JW_

~***~

 

**[2. January]**

 

_[16:24]   Tell me again why you are returning to school a full week before classes resume?  – MH_

_[16:30]   I told you, I’m taking part in a research project and my professor wants to get underway before we all get busy with the term. – SH_

_[16:30]   Not that it’s any of your business – SH_

_[16:31]   Ah, so it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that John Watson had to return a week early due to his sporting commitments – MH_

_[16:35]   That is merely a coincidence – SH_

_[16:36]   Oh brother dear, what is it we say about coincidence? – MH_

_[16:40]   Fuck off – SH_

_[16:41]   Language – MH_

_[16:42]   Please fuck off – SH_

_[16:42]   Better – MH_

 

~***~

To: prw47@uwestminster.edu

From: wssh21@uwestminster.edu

Subject: Hypoxia Project

 

Dr. Wallers,

My holiday had to be cut short, and I am returning to campus a week earlier than I originally planned. If there is something I can get started for the project before you return, please let me know.

Regards,

Sherlock Holmes

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

To: wssh21@uwestminster.edu

From: prw47@uwestminster.edu

Subject: Re: Hypoxia Project

 

Hey Sherlock,

Sorry to hear about your holiday, hope everything’s alright. There’s nothing really to do until next week, and I’m sure you’ve already read all the papers I sent you before break. Maybe go into the lab sometime on Sunday and wake up the T453Ls, they’re in the -80. Other than that, enjoy your time before classes begin again.

See you Monday,

Pierce.

 

Sent from my iPhone

 

~***~

 

**[2. January]**

_[18:19]   I’m back on campus – SH_

_[18:20]   Why? There’s still a week left of break – JW_

_[18:21]   Professor asked me to come back early to get started on the hypoxia study – SH_

_[18:22]   That sucks. He should have come in instead of inconveniencing you – JW_

_[18:22]   I don’t mind – SH_

_[18:27]   Still sucks. Do you have to start immediately? – JW_

_[18:28]   Not this very moment, but this week. – SH_

_[18:30]   Good. I’m just about to order a takeaway, want to come round mine? – JW_

_[18:36]   Alright – SH_

_[18:37]   Great! Chinese alright? – JW_

_[18:40]   Chinese is good. See you in a bit – SH_

_[18:42]   :) – JW_

~***~

 

_[18:46]   Where’s that cable thing that connects a laptop to the TV? – JW_

_[18:50]   Isn’t it in the TV stand?_

_[18:51]   I already looked there – JW_

_[18:52]   Try looking on the shelves by the window. On the right_

_[18:55]   FOUND IT! – JW_

_[18:55]   You’re a life saver, Mike – JW_

_[18:58]   Glad I could help. You having a movie night or something?_

_[18:59]   Sherlock’s coming over and he’s never seen Silence of The Lambs – JW_

_[19:00]   Interesting choice for a date movie_

_[19:00]   Shut up, it’s not a date – JW_

_[19:03]   Sure. Just be safe. No glove, no love_

_[19:04]   Prick. Say hi to Becca for me – JW_

_[19:06]   Will do! Enjoy your ‘not a date’ date night, give Sherlock my LERRRV_

~***~

 

_[19:15]   I’m outside. Let me in – SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't bother writing their 'not a date' date night, but if anyone's interested in what happened:
> 
> They sat a bit to close on the couch while eating their Chinese and watching the movie. Also Sherlock may have _accidentally_ grabbed John's arm once or twice during some of the more intense moments of the movie. When Sherlock eventually went back to his place, the both imagined what else they could have done together on that couch.
> 
> Next chapter we return to the normal chapter format. January 6th approaches for our boys, shenanigans must ensue.
> 
> Comments and corrections are my bread and butter, so please feel free to help me carbo load!


	7. Birthday Trespassing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sherlock's birthday, and John refuses to let such an important day go by unobserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super short chapter for you today, it's more of a set up for the good stuff (emotional and _other_ ) that gets under way in the chapters to follow.

That week between New Years and the start of term was, for lack of a better word, perfect. Mike was still in Brighton, so John had the flat to himself. He had no responsibilities outside of football practice, and best of all, Sherlock was there. With no classes or office hours, they were free to hang out and do as they pleased. When John had to go to practice, Sherlock would do whatever it was he had to do for that research project. He explained the project, and John understood the general idea and what they hoped to find, but he still wasn’t clear why the professor was letting a student start it on his own, but then again that student was Sherlock Holmes so who better to spearhead your experiment? But it all meant Sherlock was on campus with him, so John wasn’t going to complain. They had texted all throughout the holiday, and Skyped a few times, but nothing compared to having Sherlock Holmes in the flesh. Oh what he wouldn’t give to actually _have_ Sherlock Holmes in the flesh. Probably best he stick a pin in that line of thinking and save it for when he was alone at night.

 

“So do you know what a little birdie told me through the grape vine?” John asked as he took a swig of water and collected his bag from the corner of Carrows on Thursday evening of the blessed ‘free week’. They had decided to keep up the self-defense sessions, more because it had become routine than anything else. John didn’t really have much more he could teach Sherlock, so it was more practice than actual training. Plus just because John had resolved not to push for anything more with Sherlock, didn’t mean he was going to pass up an opportunity to be close to Sherlock. Especially Sherlock during a workout. He wasn’t proud of it, but there was just something about Sherlock with his cheeks flushed pink, endorphins high, a light shine to his face, that _did things_ to John. Pin, thoughts, not now, for later.

“That you shouldn’t mix your idioms?” Sherlock suggested, throwing a sweatshirt over his head and pulling on his coat.

“First, it’s called a malaphor, I’m surprised you don’t know that. And no,” John laughed, shoving Sherlock a bit, “I found out that it’s your birthday tomorrow!”

“Oh yeah, the bird on the vine was correct.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s just another day, it doesn’t really matter.”

“It doesn’t really matter?! Of course it does. It’s the anniversary of the day the world got you! We should celebrate, anything you want, we’ll do it!”

“Anything I want?” John could have sworn he saw a flash of _something_ behind Sherlock’s eyes, but before he could think what, it was gone.

“Anything. I have early practice tomorrow, so afterwards I’m all yours. We can get food; go to a museum; break into the morgue to take body parts. Whatever you want!”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on Sherlock” John said, stopping Sherlock before they could exit the main door and step out into the cold January air. “I don’t have a game tomorrow, and this will be the last free Friday until the Championships at the end of the month.”

“If the team makes it into the finals you mean.”

“Oi! I find your lack of faith disturbing. We’ll get to the finals!” John said, giving Sherlock another shove. “But seriously, we ought to do something, even if it’s as simple as you blowing out the candle on a cupcake after takeaway and case files.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. It’s not every day you turn nineteen, your birthday is an event worth celebrating!”

“Ok, well there is something I’ve been wanting to do…”

 

~

 

“We’re going to be arrested, Sherlock. We are _going_ to be arrested!” John hissed

“Well we will if you keep on talking like that!”

When John had met Sherlock outside the library for Sherlock’s birthday celebration, he had not imagined the evening would end with him crouched down next to the infuriating birthday boy, hiding behind a door in New Scotland Yard. He hadn’t been sure exactly what Sherlock has ‘always wanted to do’; minor vandalism to Mycroft’s flat? Sure.  Breaking into St. Bart’s to play with some of their more high-tech lab equipment? That was definitely something Sherlock would do. But this, breaking in to police headquarters to install a patch on the computers of all homicide DIs? They were so getting arrested.

Under the guise of IT installing updates, Sherlock – with John acting as his assistant – had actually managed to install the patch on all but one of the computers. He was just putting the finishing touches on the last one, when an actual IT representative showed up, and they had to get out fast. Apparently when more than one officer in charge’s computer was rebooted within a certain time frame, an automatic alert was sent to IT and someone was sent to check for a power or network failure. Or in this case, an idiot university student and his enabler trying to gain access to murder investigations.  

They were currently waiting – hiding – in an empty conference room, and once the coast was clear, they could slip out of the building. According to Sherlock, the patch was undetectable and untraceable, so if IT were to investigate, there would be nothing to raise any red flags. They didn’t run in to Lestrade or anyone else they knew, no one seemed to take notice as they made their hasty exit from the office area. They were in the clear, they just needed to keep level heads and not call attention to themselves.  

“The things I do for you, Sherlock Holmes.” John groaned, more to himself than anything else. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“Well you did say we could do anything I wanted.”

“I didn’t expect this!”

“Please,” Sherlock huffed, and John could hear the smirk in his voice. “And how is they any worse than breaking into the morgue to steal body parts? That was something you suggested by the way.”

“I was kidding about that!”

“Oh, shame. That sounded like fun too.”

Even though he knew Sherlock wasn’t looking, that didn’t stop John from rolling his eyes as he bit back a laugh.

“Okay, but really, Sherlock,” he sighed, “how did you plan on us getting out of here? We’re kind of in an ‘employees only’ area.”

“Simple,” Sherlock said as he peered through the small window in the door, “we wait until the hallway is empty, and then calmly make our way towards the lifts, and proceed to the lobby.”

“And if we get stopped? You know we’re bound to get stopped.”

“Then we say we are on our way to see DC Lestrade. Either they say he’s not available or they bring us to him. If it’s the former we proceed to the exit. If it’s the latter, then when we can just tell Lestrade we were hoping he had some cold cases for us. Either way, we’re in the clear.”

“So what if they catch us in here, or as we’re leaving?”

“I got a call and we ducked in here to take it for a bit of privacy.” Ok, so Sherlock did have a plan. “Alright, go now!”

Following Sherlock’s lead – something that was becoming a bit of a habit as of late – John stepped calmly out of the conference room and headed for the lifts. They weren’t stopped, no one even bothered to look at them. Sherlock had never looked so smug, John hated that look. No, he loved it.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my entire life!” John laughed as he and Sherlock collapse together onto a bench just outside the main entrance.

“Yeah? And you loved every second of it,” Sherlock grinned, “the blood pumping through your veins, the adrenaline, the potential of just the two of us against the rest of the world!”

“The rest of the world?”

“Ok, the two of us against all of Scotland Yard. You thrive on this stuff, John Watson. Don’t try to deny it.”

He was right. It was dangerous, and stupid, and John loved all of it.

“I’m just glad we made it out without being caught” John said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“As I knew we would.”

“Yeah, sure you did.” John was once again unable to contain the eye roll. “You know, for helping you do this incredibly stupid thing, I think you owe me. If, no, when we make it to the championship game; you have to promise to come and watch no matter where it’s played.”

“I owe you?” Sherlock gaped, his eyes wide. Even when affronted, Sherlock was adorable. “I’m pretty sure in an effort to get me to celebrate my birthday, you agreed to do ‘whatever I wanted.’”

“I did, but this was a huge risk. Do we have a deal?”

Sherlock stared at him for a beat, before letting out a sigh. “Yes fine, deal. If you make it, I’ll attend.” He was clearly trying to sound annoyed, but John could see the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. “Now I believe I remember hearing something about a candle on a cupcake. Is that offer still on the table?”

“Finally, a sensible birthday activity!” John grinned and pulled Sherlock to his feet and towards a row of cabs.

“Excellent! And you can give me those ‘Symphony in the Cinema’ tickets you’ve been hiding in your jacket all evening.”

“How did you…” John had been so careful not to leave any clues. When he found out the Vienna Philharmonic – Sherlock’s favorite symphony orchestra, second only to London – was doing a live broadcast, he had made a point to order tickets from a random school computer. He even printed them out by borrowing Dr. Kiernan’s pass code.

“I know all, John.” Sherlock winked.

Of course he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, the boys will be going out of town together. Mini-breaks are always fun!
> 
> If you leave comments and corrections, I'll be your friend for life! (Please, I have so few friends. I'm so alone)


	8. The Championship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock made a promise to John, but what might a change of scenery bring to their ever growing and ever changing friendship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been at a conference for work for the last few days, and I am bone tired. I actually nodded off while editing this chapter (not because this chapter is boring, I'm just that sleepy.) If there are more typos than usual, now you know why. (And feel free to point them out)
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The boys are away from campus, overdue introductions are made, and even more overdue revelations are had (though maybe not _all_ the revelations)

Three hours away. The championship game had to be three hours away! John and the rest of the team just had to make it into the finals. Sherlock just had to make that stupid promise, and now he had to deal with the small matter of how he was going to get there. He certainly wasn’t going to take the coach the spirit boosters hired to haul students to the game – Sherlock would never condemn himself to that hell – and a cab would be far too expensive. There was only one option left; he was going to have to go see Mycroft. This was going to be painful.

 

“So you just expect me to hand over the keys to my private car, all so you can have a little weekend getaway?” Mycroft didn’t even have the decency to get off his arse. He just sat behind his desk with the same patronizing look he had when they were children and he caught Sherlock trying to glue Mummy’s figurines back together. But Sherlock wasn’t a child anymore.

“I told you, it’s not a getaway.” Sherlock said through grit teeth. “I made a commitment, one I cannot back out of, one I refuse to break, and I am in need of transportation. I thought you might act like an actual brother for once, and help me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I am more than willing to help you in your time of need, brother dear. I’m sure if I ask, Jacobs would be more than happy to drive you to your… _commitment_.” Mycroft smirked, making sure to add extra emphasis to the last work, the prick.

“You expect me to show up with a chauffeur? Dear lord, Mycroft, I knew you were out of touch, but I didn’t imagine it was this bad!”

“And you expect me to hand over my car to someone who has been driving for less than a year.”

“I have a spotless driving record, and you know it!” Sherlock growled.

“Because you’ve barely driven.”

“Be that as it may, I am still a far superior driver that ninety-four percent of the population.”

Mycroft continued to stare at him, his mouth pulled into that smug smirk Sherlock had come to loath. Christ, he was really going to make him say it.

“Mycroft… please.” Sherlock wanted to vomit. “If you allow me to borrow the car, I will owe you a favor, no questions asked. I’ll do your _leg work_ , as I know how much you detest it. No matter how dull or pointless, I’ll do it. Just… please.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” Mycroft said, looking like the cat that got the cream. “You can pick the car up Saturday morning, and I want it back Sunday afternoon in the same condition as you got it with a full tank. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

The things he did for John Watson.

 

~

 

It was worth it. Going to see Mycroft, the three hour drive, sitting amongst his ‘peers’ who were high on school spirit; it was all worth it just to see John play. Sherlock had seen him play many times before, but this game was different. Maybe because it was the ‘championship’, but it was like John could do no wrong. Every move John made was the exact right one – Sherlock may have read up on the intricacies of football with a special focus on the defensive midfield position – and his skills seemed to infect the rest of the players, everyone was playing  better. The game was, quite simply, perfect.  And when they won, and John looked to the bleachers – to Sherlock – with a grin that could rival the sun, it took every ounce of control for Sherlock to stop himself from rushing the pitch along with the rest of the fans. It was so worth it.

 

*******

 

“Why do I have to be here? I really don’t think I belong here. Nobody wants me here.” Sherlock said nervously.

“So I’m nobody now, am I?” John laughed.

The team had agreed to meet up at The Gurnard's Head – Alec knew the area and he knew ‘the perfect place for champions to get a pint’ – after everyone had had a chance to shower and change. John was already late, and having to all but drag Sherlock behind him wasn’t helping.

“Of course you’re not nobody.”

“Well you said nobody wants you to come, and I want you to come, so A plus B equals I must be nobody.”

“John, you know what I meant.” Sherlock frowned. “These are your friends, your real friends, and they’re not going to want to have me tagging along while you all celebrate your victory.”

This stopped John in his tracks.

“Sherlock,” he said quietly, turning around, “you’re my friend just as much as they are.” More so, but he couldn’t tell Sherlock that.

“John, you don’t have to say that. It’s fine, I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. I just won the biggest game I’ve ever played, and I want to celebrate with my friends, _all_ of my friends. That means my team and my best friend. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to be the only non player, plenty of other friends will be there too. Girlfriends, boyfriends, you name it.”

John was met with only silence. Sherlock just stood there blinking rapidly, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Shit, he shouldn’t have said that thing about girlfriends and boyfriends. He knew Sherlock didn’t go into that kind of thing, and he’d made him uncomfortable. Shit, shit, fucking, shitting, shit, shit.

“Sherlock, I wasn’t implying –” John started, but Sherlock cut him off.

“So… what you’re saying is… I’m… I’m your… best… friend?”

Oh thank god. John felt a lorry’s worth of relief lift from his chest as the laughter bubbled up. “Of course you’re my best friend.” He giggle-sighed. “You didn’t think I’d follow just anyone to crime scenes, did you?”

“But how can I be your best friend?” Sherlock frowned. “We haven’t even known each other six months.”

“Who cares how long we’ve known each other. When you know, you know.” John shrugged.

“When you know, you know?”

“Yeah, and I know I have more fun with you, hanging out, pestering the Yard, trying to convince you a basic knowledge of literature might come in handy, or whatever, than I do with anyone else.  So less than six months or not, you’re my best friend.”

God it was true, there was no one John wanted to spend time with more than Sherlock. And yes, maybe what he was feeling for Sherlock went well beyond that of a best friend. And maybe he was saying too much, but god, Sherlock had to know what his friendship meant to John. He had to realize that John spent almost all his free time with him, willingly, more than willingly. He had to know that seeing him there at the game was better than winning twenty championships.

“John, I…” Sherlock said quietly, pausing to take a deep breath. “You’re my best friend too.”

“Best friend of the future first and only consulting detective in the world, I think this is a better feeling than today’s win!”

“John, don’t make fun of me, I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” John grinned. “Now come on, no more of this mushy stuff, let’s go meet the guys.”

 

“Watson! You finally made it, you beautiful bastard!” Ethan Moore – goalkeeper – cheered when John approached the long table around which the team was gathered.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late, gents,” John smiled, “unlike some people I know, I enjoy a proper wash. And I don’t mean just splashing water on my face and a fresh spray of deodorant.”

“I bet you were enjoying that wash.” Peter Bixby – left winger – said eyeing Sherlock. “Who’s this tall glass of water you have with you?”

“Oi, nose down Bix, Simon’s sitting right next to you.” Peter’s boyfriend Simon just shook his head, letting out a ‘woe is me’ sigh as he smiled. Peter was a notorious flirt, but loyal and devoted to a fault. Simon had nothing to worry about. John had nothing to worry about. “This is my friend, Sherlock. He came for the game, and since he’s all but a captive out here, I forced him to join for a pint and celebrate our glorious victory!”

“Well welcome to the madhouse, Sherlock!” Peter grinned. “Take a seat! Have a drink! If you’re a friend of John’s you’ll definitely be needing one.”

“Oh, alright. Uh… thanks.” Sherlock mumbled, taking the seat next to John.

John had never seen Sherlock act so reserved – almost shy – around other people. It was obvious he was nervous about being there, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to make him come out. But John wanted Sherlock in all aspects of his life, he didn’t want him thinking he was ashamed of their friendship, that he viewed Sherlock as somehow separate, a secret.

“So how do you know our fine Mr. Watson here?” Ethan asked, leaning across the table.

“John was the TA for one of my classes last term, and this term. We got to know each other over the course of… um… lessons.” Sherlock said, his cheeks flaring pink. Adorable.

“Wait, John was your TA?” Paul called from down the table, his head snapping away from his conversation with Mike and Becca. John was surprised he could even hear over all the noise. “Are you Mr. Thursday Night? Holy shit! You’re Mr. Thursday Night!”

“Mr. Thursday Night?” Sherlock frowned, looking to John for answers. Christ he was cute when he was confused, that little crease forming between his furrowed brows.

“The guys – uh – they sometimes refer to you as ‘Mr. Thursday Night.’”John mumbled, feeling his own cheeks heat up. “Because of the fact that – um – that I’m always busy with you on Thursday nights.” He explained. All true; but still, John knew how it sounded, and he didn’t want that kind of implication – an implication of a more than friends relationship – to drive Sherlock away. It wasn’t helping that the about three quarters of the table had gone quiet and was now watching them.

“Oh…” Sherlock cleared his throat, looking to Paul. “Well in that case, I guess I am he.”

“About fucking time we met Mr. Thursday Night!” Jason Zardari – captain and attacking midfielder – could be heard yelling over the sudden explosion of whoops and hollers from the table.

“Just ignore them,” John groaned, “They’re clearly already drunk.”

“Oh no we’re not!” Ethan protested. “We just can’t believe we are actually getting the chance to meet you.”

“And have you wanted to meet me?”

“Oh yeah.” Paul laughed. “And get to know you too. We hardly know anything about you, other than the fact that you were in a class of John’s, you’re crazy smart, and John acts like you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

John buried his face in his hands. “I do not.” He groaned. Being covered in paper cuts and dipped in lemon juice would be better than this conversation.

“Yeah you do.”

Alright, maybe he did. But anyone who spent more than five minutes with Sherlock would feel the same, or at least they should.

 

After the initial awkwardness and embarrassment of the introductions, the rest of the evening went smoothly. Sherlock seemed to grow more at ease with the guys, at least his reservations and shyness appeared to dissolve.

 

Sherlock was honestly a hit with the group. John was just relieved the conversation had shifted away from all the teasing and innuendo. Mike ‘let slip’ that Sherlock sometimes worked with the police – often dragging John along with him – which led to John being called all manner of names for not telling the team about it, followed by Sherlock and him recounting some of their more interesting cases. That of course led to Sherlock describing his methods, which eventually turned into him deducing members of the team. By some miracle he managed to hold his tongue and didn’t broadcast anything too personal. Though at one point he did reveal that, not only was Jason thinking about proposing to his girlfriend – thankfully she was in the bathroom when that happened – but also that she would most likely say yes. He did however advise Jason to wait until Ashley began her apprenticeship as a solicitor before ‘popping the question.’

John honestly didn’t know what took him so long to introduce Sherlock to everyone, or rather what took him so long to insist Sherlock meet everyone. The team accepted Sherlock, and Sherlock didn’t try running away from the team. The two sides of John’s life seemed to come together, and one didn’t outright reject the other. Xander Cartwright – reserve goalkeeper – didn’t really take to Sherlock, but he was a complete moron, so John wasn’t too fussed about it. It was about damn near as close to perfect as John could have hoped.

 

“Hey, John,” Mike said, pulling John aside as the party was breaking up and heading out for various other forms of celebrations, “I’m planning on staying with Becca tonight, so you and Sherlock can have the room to yourselves if the two of you wanted too…” he trailed off.

“Oh that’s great, thanks! It’s way too late for him to drive back tonight, and I never bothered to ask him if he reserved a room somewhere. Something tells me he didn’t.” John laughed, glancing over at Sherlock who was up at the bar informing the owner that one of the waiters was swapping out the two hundred pound whiskey for a cheap substitute, and keeping the expensive stuff for himself.

“Oh wait, but we don’t need it for that.” He quickly added when he finally caught Mike’s meaning. “I told you before, Sherlock and I, we’re not like that. Really.” God, if only they were like that. What he wouldn’t give for them to be like that. “We’re just friends.”

“Just friends my arse. I’m not an idiot, John, I have eyes. Everyone else can see it.” Mike shook his head and went to join Becca outside, leaving John to wait for Sherlock to finish up with the pub owner.

Sure Mike could see how John felt – ‘I’m falling arse over tits for Sherlock Holmes’ was practically written on his forehead – but just because he had feelings, that didn’t mean they were reciprocated. Well, at least he could still call Sherlock ‘friend’, that was something; he thought glancing back over to the bar…

Shit! The pilfering waiter had joined the ‘discussion’ at the bar, and it didn’t look like he was taking too kindly to Sherlock’s accusations. John sighed as he hurried over to prevent Sherlock from being murdered yet again; honestly, he couldn’t leave the brilliant idiot alone for one second. It should probably bother John that that fact only made him start falling deeper.

 

*******

 

“You’re sure you don’t mind riding back with me?” Sherlock asked as he pulled onto the M1 to head back to London.

“It’s a bit late for me to change my mind now.” John chuckled. “And yeah, I am more than happy to be riding with you.”

“And you’re not just saying that because I asked this morning? You were still half asleep. You are not required to keep commitments made whilst partially asleep.” He hadn’t even planned on asking if John would accompany him on the trip back to campus, it just sort of slipped out. After the pub with all of John’s other friends, then John – his best friend – offering to share his room where they talked well into the night; after waking up that morning and looking across to the other bed to see John sleep rumpled and peaceful, Sherlock didn’t want it to end just yet. He couldn’t help himself; ‘let’s go back together’ was leaving his lips before he even realized he’d opened his mouth.

“That’s good to know. But no, like I told the guys when they were taking the piss at roll call this morning, why would I pass up an opportunity to ride in a brand new F-Type, for three hours on a coach with those smelly bastards?”  

“Team bonding time?” God, what if John really was just humoring him? He couldn’t have John resenting him for taking him away from his team. They had just won the championship the day before, surely they’d still want to be all together to enjoy the victory. He shouldn’t have asked, he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Ha, no. I think the three hours here was enough team bonding time. Not to mention the last two years I’ve been on the team, and all this year. I’ve bonded enough with them.”

“But the season is over now.”

“Oh you are observant, you should be a detective.” John laughed. Sherlock blushed. “There’s still the team banquet and it’s not like I’m just going to stop hanging out with my friends because the season is over. Plus a lot of guys are finding their own ways back, it’s not just me. Don’t worry Sherlock, I’d rather be with you, I'd rather ride with you. I really do like being with you.”

Sherlock bit his lip to keep from smiling “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Coach rides are really boring anyway, everyone usually just keeps to themselves; sleeping, listening to music, whatever.”

“Well obviously they’re boring,” Sherlock sighed, relaxing a bit because John really did want to be with him, “but you do go in for some really boring things, so I didn’t know.”

“Hey! I have no clue what you’re talking about, everything I do is scintillating”

“Oh you’re quite scintillating.” Sherlock smiled to himself, John was quite scintillating,

“You know, interacting with your team wasn’t as horrible as I feared.” Sherlock said after a few minutes of silence. While their silences were comfortable – everything with John seemed to be comfortable – he thrived on their conversations. It was quite amazing that even after all the months they’d known each other, he still had not grown tired of talking with John, that they hadn’t run out of things to talk about.

“Well that’s because you spent the majority of the time showing off that magnificent brain of yours, dazzling them all with your deductions.” John laughed, complete with hand gestures.

“Not the entire time.” Sherlock blushed again. He really needed to get that under control.

“No, you’re right.” John nodded. “The rest of the time you spent talking to either me or Mike.”

“Again, not true.” Sherlock protested. “I spoke to Mike’s girlfriend at length. And I promised that Alec guy I would pass on his regards and phone number to Molly. You can account for him being trustworthy, correct?”

“Absolutely, he’s a stand up guy. But you didn’t need me to tell you that. You read him within a minute of sitting down.”

“I did, but it’s always best to get confirmation from a reliable source.”

“Needed confirmation.” John shook his head. “It’s good of you to be looking out for Molly like that. You may try to hide it, but you’re actually a good friend, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well that’s just patently untrue.” Sherlock snorted.

“It is true. You wanted to make sure you didn’t recommend a dud – or worse – to Molly. And you spent all of last night hanging out with my friends simply because you know I really wanted you to come with. All that sounds like a good friend to me.”

A good friend? God, John couldn’t be further from the truth. John was a good friend, humoring him, looking out for him, wasting his time with him. “I can be accommodating from time to time, just don’t expect me to socialize with large groups on a regular basis.”

No, Sherlock was a crap friend. He wanted John all to himself. If he could, he’d spend every waking moment with John. If he could, he’d have John spend every non-waking moment with him too. He’d never demand it of course, he’d never deny John his friends – his other friends. He felt guilty enough already for taking him away from them now. But still, he wanted that time.

“I don’t know if I could get used to all the nicknames.” He continued, attempting to shake off his doubts. “You’re ‘Three-C’, Paul is ‘Phantom’, Mike is ‘McCoy’, and apparently I’m ‘Thursday’ now. It’s all a bit much.”

“That’s football for you.” John shrugged. “Oh, but that actually reminded me. Since the season’s over and I don’t have games and an intense practice schedule to deal with, would you mind if we switch our gym night to Fridays? I figured that way we don’t have to worry about classes the next day.”

“I never worry about classes the next day.”

“Alright smartarse, so _I_ don’t have to worry about classes the next day.” John chuckled.

“I guess Fridays work just as well. Though aren’t Fridays a popular night for socializing, won’t that get in the way of plans that may come up with your other friends?”

“Nah, the guys usually prefer Saturdays over Fridays. Don’t worry about it.”

“I see. So does this mean I’m no longer ‘Mr. Thursday Night’? I don’t know if I like the sound of ‘Mr. Friday Night.’ It makes me sound like some sort of lothario.”

“Oh god, we can’t have that.” John grinned. “No, no matter what day we practice, you’ll always be Mr. Thursday Night to me.”

Sherlock knew John was being funny, that he didn’t mean anything more – wasn’t implying anything more – but he rather liked the idea of being John’s Mr. Thursday Night. Just the thought of being John’s something – anything – was enough to stoke the now all too familiar warmth in his chest, the warmth that only John alone could inspire. Sherlock was getting in way over his head, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

~

 

Sherlock relished those three hours with John journeying back to London. They discussed their plans for the week ahead; John had his final interview for the Bart’s summer program that Wednesday, and Sherlock was going along. His excuse was that Molly’s uncle had a pristine donated liver of a lifelong alcoholic he was willing to let Sherlock examine, but really he just wanted to be on hand for when John learned if he’d been accepted. That’s what best friends did, right, be there to support each other? He still had to get used to this being someone’s best friend thing.

They talked, they sat in silence, they argued when John insisted they stop for lunch and to ‘stretch their legs’. John even pestered Sherlock to tell him all the deductions he’d held back when meeting the rest of the team. Sherlock was pretty sure he’d never heard anything as wonderful as John dissolving into a fit of giggles when Sherlock told him that Vikram Hangal was also a member of a barbershop quartet named ‘The Chord of the Rings.' If he thought watching John play the day before was worth all the effort of getting there, it was nothing compared to the drive back. Sherlock would gladly endure thirty conversations with Mycroft, or be surrounded by his peers everyday for a year, to experience even ten minutes of the drive with John.

 

The rest if the drive passed like a breeze, and all too soon they were pulling up in front of John’s flat.  Oh God did Sherlock want nothing more than to accept John’s invitation up, but he had to return the car to Mycroft – bloody useless Mycroft.

“You’ll find the tank is full, the car in showroom-like condition, and I’ve returned the seat to match your grotesque proportions.” Sherlock said, dropping the keys on his brother’s desk and getting a sick thrill when one left a scratch on the polished surface. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, I’ll see you at Easter.”

“Not so fast brother mine.” Mycroft said, halting Sherlock just as he was about to get through the door and away. “I’d very much like to hear about your little weekend mini-break. How was… _the game?_ ” He sneered as if choking on the words. Oh if only.

“As if you don’t already know. I’m sure you paid one intern or another to follow me and deliver a full minute by minute report.”

“I fear you vastly overestimate my sway here, baby brother.”

“I really don’t. And don’t think I don’t know you have a camera installed in the dashboard.”

“Hmmm, well that may be, but I’d still like to hear about it from you.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed. “I got to the stadium on Saturday afternoon, and watched my university’s football team win their game. I then met up with John, I went to a pub where I consumed half a pint of lager followed by a single glass of scotch. I retired for night, and Sunday – that’s today – I drove back here to deliver your precious car safe and sound.”

“I see.” Mycroft hummed, leaning back in his chair, a smirk on his perpetually smug face. “And was it cozy, your little private sleepover with John in the inn. I do hope Mr. Watson isn’t a snorer; that does tend to spoil the mood.”

“Oh my, are you looking for a travel recommendation for you and… what’s her name again?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. Mycroft wasn’t the only one who could play this little game. “I dare say, I can’t imagine you’d be able get the time off for a proper getaway. I mean, both your plates must be quite full with all the important matters to which you alone can attend. At least that’s the impression I got, big brother.”

“Ah, but it’s always good to know where best to go if the opportunity should ever arise.” Mycroft said smoothly, appearing to anyone who didn’t grow up with him, to be completely unfazed. “Have a safe trip back to campus, Sherlock. And do please give John my regards.”

“I can try, but I don’t think he’ll want them.” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he made his way out of Mycroft’s study.

 

Getting the last word always put a little extra spring in Sherlock’s step, and not even Mycroft’s snide comments and innuendos could dampen his good mood, he wouldn’t let them. It was astonishing what being around John could do to him – to his mood, his confidence – John was astonishing, and Sherlock was…

For the first time all weekend Sherlock felt his resolve falter, and his stomach twisted as it finally dawned on him what it all meant, what he was _feeling_ meant. Sherlock was falling for John, not just attracted to him – he knew that already, that much was obvious – but actually, genuinely falling for him. Sherlock was falling hard for John Watson, and he was falling fast. 

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well duh, they're falling in love. But now it appears they've come to terms with what they're feeling, don't you think it's about time they open their eyes and figure out how the other feels? I know I do. I guess you better stay tuned for what comes next!! :D
> 
> There are a few things I truly love in life, drinking Dr. Pepper, cuddling with soft grey creature, and reader comments and corrections. Well, I just opened up a Dr. Pepper, and there's a little grey dude next to me, so I guess that last part's up to you!!


	9. Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With feelings realized, tension begins to build, perhaps even to a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope these Dino Nuggets are satisfying, it's what inspired this whole fic. Also, you may want to take note of the new tags.

It wasn’t long after the championship game weekend that John noticed a change in Sherlock. They still spent almost every free moment together, there were still the cases, there was still the easy camaraderie, but something about Sherlock was different. He seemed to physically shy away from the closeness that had developed between them over the course of their friendship. Gone were the causal touches, Sherlock’s arm brushing his as they walked together, or their shoulders bumping at crime scenes or while they were hunched over a desk examining evidence. No longer did fingers linger as they passed each other pens, papers, or phones; no longer did Sherlock lean against John’s back as he read over his shoulder, Sherlock had stopped reading over his shoulder altogether. There were times when it would seem almost like Sherlock forget he didn’t want to be near John, and he’d start to naturally drift into John’s personal space – something to which John had gladly grown accustomed – only for him to realize at the last second, and he then would back off again.

Sherlock wasn’t mad at him, at least not as far as John could tell. No, he was the first to offer congratulations on John’s acceptance into the Bart’s summer program with an all too short, all too stiff hug. He even took John out to dinner to celebrate. Granted they went to a restaurant whose hostess had contacted Sherlock with suspicions that two of the busboys were stealing customer credit card information – they were – but it was still a nice meal. Sherlock had even waited until they were finished with dessert before confronting the thieves. And then there was John’s birthday. Not only did Sherlock willingly attend the party Mike had thrown together at Becca’s flat – it was honestly more of an excuse for the team to get together than a celebration of John’s birth – but he had also organized something for just the two of them to mark the occasion. Sherlock had arranged for an after hours trip to the planetarium so that John could ‘tell him all the useless intricacies of the universe’, and had given him the most amazingly comprehensive ‘starter’ medical kit. It was the most perfect birthday John had ever had, or it would have been perfect had Sherlock not made a point of putting a seat between the two of them as the stared up at the faux stars.

So no, Sherlock wasn’t mad; he just didn’t want to be too close to him anymore. John wasn’t sure if it was something he did, something he said – his stomach dropped at the thought of what he might have accidentally done or said in his sleep the night after the game when his subconscious took over. All he knew was that every time Sherlock put distance between them, every time he stopped and took a step back, it hurt.

The further away Sherlock got, the more it hurt. The more it hurt, the more John missed him. John missed Sherlock so badly he found himself staring at his phone as he lay in bed at night, going through the random photos he had taken of his friend over the course of their friendship. Candid pictures at crime scenes when Sherlock wasn’t looking and the light hit him just right – the light seemed to always hit him just right – or over dinner when he had food stuck to his face. There was the picture Mike had forwarded of the two of them from his birthday party. A few times, John had to stop himself from making the antler photo his phone background. It was ridiculous, to miss someone you saw every day, but he still missed him. It was bad, and it wasn’t getting any better. The more he missed Sherlock, the more John wanted him, and the more John wanted him, the more it hurt. It was a vicious cycle – the hurting, and the missing, and the wanting – and it seemed John’s only reprieve was their Friday nights at the gym. John treasured those nights; those nights became the only time he could enjoy even a hint of the – physical – closeness they had once shared.

Week after week it built – the need for that closeness and proximity – until one Friday evening in early April, everything finally came to a head.

 

Sherlock had decided he wanted to practice counterattacks and escapes again. Escapes tended to involve the most bodily contact – John wrapping his arms around Sherlock from behind, holding him tight to keep him from getting away – and well, John would have had to have been an actual idiot to say no. Maybe he should have said no. Sure he had been aching to be close to Sherlock, but they hadn’t been so close in months and it was far too similar to the imagined scenarios – fantasies – that played out in John’s head nearly every night. He could feel every inch of Sherlock’s lean, warm back pulled flush against his chest. His nose was all but buried against the side of Sherlock’s neck, and John could smell the heady mix of clean sweat and Sherlock’s ridiculously expensive honey scented body wash. Worst of all, Sherlock’s firm – perfect – arse rested just above his…

_Not good._

So distracted was John by keeping his thoughts and body under control, that he let his hold loosen and Sherlock was able to turn out of his grasp. The next thing John knew, his legs were out from under him, and he was flat on his back, pinned to the ground by his wrists with Sherlock straddling his waist and looming over him.

The wind knocked out of him and breathing hard – again not just from the wind being knocked out of him – John finally looked up to find Sherlock’s grinning down at him. His face far closer than John expected and a heat behind his eyes John had only ever seen flashes of before. It was intoxicating, and John felt powerless to move. No, that wasn’t right, John could move, he just didn’t want to. And though a voice in his head screamed at him to get away before it was too late, before his body betrayed him once again, a louder voice screamed at him stay, to enjoy the contact his body so desperately craved, to perhaps roll his hips, show Sherlock how much he wanted him.  And so John stayed, eyes locked on Sherlock as Sherlock continued to stare down at him, his grin slowly giving way to something more intense.

“No – no bee facts this time?” John stumbled, swallowing hard.

“No” Sherlock breathed.

And suddenly John was no longer pinned. If asked about it later, he won’t be able to say for sure why he did it, but something in him snapped and he was pulling Sherlock down, crashing their mouths together. Maybe it was the proximity and his overwhelming need for Sherlock, but none of it mattered because he was kissing Sherlock – actually kissing Sherlock – and Sherlock was kissing him back. Maybe it was even Sherlock who made the first move, John honestly didn’t know. Sherlock’s lips were on his, his fingers were tangled in Sherlock’s curls as he pulled him closer, and Sherlock’s hands were sliding down his chest to tug at the hem of his t-shirt.

“Sher – _oh god_ – Sherlock.” John gasped as Sherlock tore his mouth away, breaking the searing kiss, and latched on to his neck. “What are we – _ah_ – what are we doing? Should we – _oh my_ – should we be doing this?” He asked, Sherlock’s hands had found their way under his shirt and were making it incredibly difficult to think.

“Don’t care.” Sherlock’s voice was muffled as he sucked hard at a spot just under John’s jaw. “Want this. Want you.”

John nearly cried as Sherlock ground against him. “Want you – _oh god_ – I want you too.” And even through two sets of pants and two sets of track bottoms, it was quite clear that Sherlock wanted him just as desperately as he wanted Sherlock.

After that, everything that followed felt almost like a blur. Positions switched – oh yes, Sherlock spread out beneath him, that was more like it – and shirts lost to frantic hands, John finally – _finally_ – felt the smooth heat of Sherlock’s bare torso against his. And Sherlock’s mouth, oh Christ, every fantasy his brain could have ever dreamt up paled in comparison to the soft, warm, perfect, perfect, _perfect_ , full lips parting under his as he deepened the kiss. Running his tongue along the defined cupid’s bow that had haunted him for months, John bit down with just enough force to earn a moan from the gorgeous man writhing underneath him.

“Was starting to think – _fuck_ – with all the space you’ve been putting between us,” John groaned, rolling his hips. Sherlock had hooked one leg around his waist and what little blood was left for John’s brain quickly headed southward, “you didn’t want to be near me anymore.”

“Quite – _uuuha_ – quite the opposite.” Sherlock panted, sliding one hand into John’s hair, and the other into the waistband of John’s pants, rocking his hips up to meet John’s thrusts. “Now please – _nnaahh_ – no more – _Oh god John!_ – no more teasing. I need – _uugghh_ – I need –”

“What do you need? Tell me what you need you gorgeous thing.” Anything, anything he wanted John would give him.

“More – _ha_ – you. I need more you.”

“ _Fuck_.” John groaned.

“Yes. Yes that!”

“I don’t – I don’t have any – any supplies.” Why the fuck wasn’t he carrying supplies like every other twenty-one year old man he knew? Obviously he never thought that _this_ with Sherlock was even a possibility, but hadn’t the Scouts taught him to ‘be prepared’? Stupid, Watson; very, very stupid.

“Then just – _uuh_ – just touch me. Let me – let me touch you. Please,” Sherlock whimpered, digging his fingers into the back of John’s neck as he reclaimed his mouth over and over again. “John, please – I want to feel you.”

“God yes.” John breathed, and let go, finally giving in to everything that had been building between them since the moment he set eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

 

*******

 

“Oh _gaaawww_ – fas – faster!  YES!” Sherlock cried, all sense of coordination lost as his hips bucked and he bowed up off the padded floor. The entirety of his focus narrowed down to John – hard and slick – sliding against him, John’s hand interwoven with his, pinning and pulling them together. “Oh _GOD – OH YES – Oh JOOOOHN!!”_

“Gorgeous, so – _uggghhha_ – fucking gorgeous.” John’s breath was hot against his lips as frantic kisses turned in to panting moans. “Sher – _oh fuck! –_ Sherlock – _oh GOD! –_ Let go – with me – come on, Sherlock – with – _aaaahhhha_ – with me.”

Meeting one final thrust, John’s body closer than he ever imagined possible, Sherlock tumbled over the edge. Vaguely he could hear himself calling out John’s name over and over again as the waves of unadulterated bliss washed over him and consumed him.

 

“Now I can’t really tell you want to do,” John, his breathing still a bit elevated, sighed flopping down to lie next to Sherlock, minutes, hours, days later, “but you probably shouldn’t do _that_ if you have to defend yourself from a real attacker.”

“Please,” snorted Sherlock, “like I’d want to touch any of those cretins.”

“Good.”

“Is it?” Sherlock turned his head to look at John, and _oh._ His hair was an absolute disaster, stick up at all angles, his cheeks were flushed pink, and his eyes, dear god, his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t sure how, but John’s eyes actually seemed to get deeper and bluer the longer he stared at them. John – like this – was nothing short of breathtaking.

“Very” John hummed. “They don’t deserve it, they don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right, they don’t.” Sherlock laughed, trying to steady himself and his thoughts. “For the moment, you’re the only cretin I want to do _this_ with.” He grinned, rolling them so John was once again underneath him, and dropped his head down for another uncoordinated – but no less sublime – kiss. Why hadn’t he kissed John sooner? Why hadn’t he been kissing John every moment of every day?

“Amazing.” John sighed several long minutes later.

“Mmmm, thank you.” Sherlock shivered as John ran a hand up and down his back. “So does all this mean that you’re…”

“That I’m what?”

Sherlock blushed, why was this so difficult to say? He was laying half naked, entangled with John after sharing a mind-altering orgasm, and he was having trouble getting the words out.

“So does this mean that you’re interested in men too, and not... and not just girls?”

“Are you asking if I’m bisexual?” Sherlock nodded. “I would think it’s pretty obvious, but yes Sherlock, I’m bi. I’m not super experienced, but I’m very, very bi.” John laughed. “I can’t believe you of all people didn’t figure it out. I wasn’t really being all that subtle.”

“I guess I have a blind spot when it comes to you.” Sherlock mumbled. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well you can rest assured, because I am definitely attracted to and interested in men; one man in particular in fact.” John smirked, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulling him back into another slow, almost worshipful kiss.

“Yep, definitely bi,” he mumbled. “Now, I’d love to lay here and keep doing this all evening, but –”

“But what?” Sherlock frowned, silently praying John hadn’t come to his senses and realized what a bad idea this all had been, what a bad idea Sherlock was.

“But we seem to have made an utter mess of both ourselves and the mats.”

“It appears we have.” Sherlock said glancing down, they were in quite a state. “And what do you propose we do about it, hmmm?”

“A towel should take care of the mats. They’re going to be cleaned tomorrow anyway, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And us?”

“Well, this is a gym, there are showers in the back of the bathrooms.”

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, he liked the sound of showers. “My my! John, what _are_ you suggesting?”

“That we get cleaned up before this stuff dries.” John laughed, getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up with him. “Now come on, move it!”

 

The shower took longer than strictly necessary given they were only using it to rinse off, but when sharing a shower with John Watson, it was difficult not to linger just a bit; especially when John Watson pushed you up against the tile wall and started snogging you breathless. Loath as he was to admit it, Sherlock was still only human and therefore completely powerless against John’s charms.  But all too soon they had both re-dressed in their discarded t-shirts and track bottoms – Sherlock decided to forgo is delightfully ruined pants – and were gathering their stuff to leave.

“Here, take my extra sweatshirt.” John said, tossing Sherlock the same sweatshirt he’d borrowed during their first lesson all those months ago.

“But I already have one.”

“Yeah, but this one has a hood. It’s pretty chilly out there and your hair is still damp. You’ll catch a cold.”

“You’re always looking out for me, John.” Sherlock laughed, pulling the extra sweatshirt over his head.

“Well I can’t have you getting sick now can I?” John smirked, walking over and trailing his hands up Sherlock’s arms. “You stuck in bed all sniffly and gross; it’d be a terrible waste.”

Sherlock was aware John could flirt, but to experience the full force of it firsthand… his legs were like jelly.

“A tragedy.” He mumbled as John closed the distance between them yet again

“So listen,” John said pulling back from the kiss a few moments later. He sounded hesitant; oh god, he’d changed his mind, “Mike and Becca are back at my place, something about her telly being broken and them wanting to watch some movie. I’m not sure how much privacy there’ll be, but you’re welcome to come back with me if you want. Feel free to say no, I’ll completely understand.” He added quickly.

Yes, god yes he wanted to go back to John’s. He never wanted to leave John’s side, not after what just happened. “I probably shouldn’t.” Sherlock sighed. “I mean, I want to, but it’s easier for one person to give them privacy than two. Plus I have a critical time point for my mold experiment in about an hour.” That was a lie, yes he had a mold experiment running, but it wasn’t actually critical he make that time point.

“No worries.” John’s smile was a little too tight.

“But I still want to be with you tomorrow!” Sherlock blurted. “I mean, we’re still getting together tomorrow, aren’t we? I’ll understand if things are different now, but we… we usually do stuff on the weekends.” Christ, one minor misstep and all his confidence abandoned him; pathetic.

Sherlock didn’t so much hear, but felt as John let out a soft chuckle. “Here, let me borrow your phone for a second.”

“My phone? Why?” What did his phone have to do with whether or not John still wanted to see him? Still, Sherlock punched in his pass code – 5646 – and handed over the phone.

“Because I’m setting an alarm for tomorrow morning, see?” John smiled, handing Sherlock his phone back.

Sherlock looked down at the screen, and sure enough there was a new alarm set for half nine the next morning: _‘Meet John at Speedy’s in 30’_

“Was that really necessary?” Sherlock tried to sounding exasperated, which would have been far easier if he weren’t suppressing a relieved grin. “You could have just said to meet you at ten.”

“I could have, yeah, but this way you have a reminder. We can’t risk you getting caught up in some case file or experiment, and forgetting.”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly going to forget.” Honestly, him of all people.

“It’s happened before, Bumblebee.” John shrugged.

Bumblebee? Did John just… Sherlock blushed. “That was one time, and I showed up eventually.”

“That’s true, you did, but it’s typically bad form to show up late for a date, so –”

“A – a date?” Sherlock interrupted. John wanted to go on a date? With him?

“Yeah, only, ah, only if you want it to be.” John blushed.

John was nervous, John Watson – handsome, universally liked football star – was actually nervous about asking him, Sherlock Holmes, on a date.  It was Sherlock who should have been the nervous one, after all, he had never been on a date before, at least not one that was explicitly called a date. And it was with John, perfect, wonderful, amazing, John.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He said, sure that he too was blushing. “I want it to be a date.”

“Then it’s a date.” John beamed. “Now don’t keep those mold cultures waiting! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Fifteen minutes and several ‘just one more for the road’ kisses later, Sherlock was making his way up the path to his residence hall, feeling lighter than he’d ever felt in his life. He had kissed John, and been kissed by John; they had touched and held each other in ways Sherlock had only ever dared dream of. But best of all, he had a date – an honest to god date – with John Watson the next day. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he’d have said he was floating about two inches off the ground, Sherlock was nothing short of elated.

 

_[23:38]   Not sure how I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough – JW_

 

Sherlock bit back a grin as he stared at the text from John, and quickly sent off a reply. So preoccupied was he with thoughts of John, of what they did, and of what the morning could bring, that Sherlock failed to notice the three figures emerge from the shadows. It was the hand curling around his shoulder that jolted him back to reality, but by that time, it was too late.

“What are you so happy about, Freak?”

_No. No, please not now. Not again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I'm the worst. I'm not happy about what I just did there at the end, I'm sorry. But it will all be ok in the end, so please still leave me some comments and corrections.


	10. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John cannot stand idle when someone he... cares about is in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly larger helping for you all today, I hope it makes up for that stunt I pulled at the end of last chapter!

By half past nine John was taking a seat at the small table in the front window of Speedy’s café. There was still a half hour before Sherlock was due to arrive – and if he knew Sherlock, he would be walking through the doors at ten o’clock on the dot – but John had awakened early and was too eager for the day to begin. Plus it gave him some extra time to plan for the day, plan for the date. He hadn’t thought about what they could do too much – his brain had been a bit preoccupied with other thoughts the night before – but so much of his and Sherlock’s friendship had been unplanned, their entire relationship was defined by spontaneity, so it would be fitting if their first date was a bit spontaneous. Their first date, his first date with Sherlock, he had a date with Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes and he were going on a date. John had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like the madman he felt like.

Since the weather was still pleasantly cool, John figured they could get some coffees or teas to go and head over to the park where he knew there were a couple of beehives. Sherlock wasn’t what one could describe as subtle about his interests, and John figured out early on that the neurobiology, and flight and communication patterns of bees fascinated Sherlock. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start. Where they went next, well, they could just decide that together. Twenty more minutes, just twenty more minutes. God, had time always moved this slow?

 

Ten o’clock came, and ten o’clock went, and at half ten Sherlock still hadn’t shown. Sherlock was usually an early riser – when he deigned to sleep – and at this time of day, Speedy’s was only about fifteen minutes from campus. Even if the alarm actual woke him, and accounting for all the time he took getting ready, Sherlock shouldn’t have been more than ten minutes late. And if he were going to be late, surely he would have texted to let John know, but there was nothing after the text he received the night before.

 

_[23:40]   I feel the same. I will just have to count on pleasant dreams to tide me over until tomorrow. – SH_

 

Sherlock had seemed so keen when they parted – if that last text had been anything to go on – but clearly something had changed his mind. He wasn’t interested, he didn’t want ‘them’, whatever ‘them’ might have been, could have been. But why? What had happened in the span of one night to make Sherlock go from pulling him in and returning kiss after kiss, touching John and allowing John to touch him in ways that John still felt faint traces of, to not even bothering to return his texts?

John was just getting up to leave, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, when a young man approached him.

“You’re John, right? John Watson?”

“Um, yeah. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“What? Oh, no, no we haven’t met. I’m Malcolm, Malcolm Vogel. I’m Sherlock Holmes’s roommate.”

“Oh… right.” John nodded. God, Sherlock couldn’t even stand him up like a normal person. “Listen, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but Sherlock really didn’t have to send you down here to give me the brush off. I get the hint.”

“No, it’s not that. Sherlock didn’t send me, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Something, um, something happened.”

And just like that it was like he had plunged into a pool of ice water, John’s chest tightened, every muscle seized still. “What happened?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” Malcolm said, twisting his hands nervously. “He kind of stumbled back to our room last night in really bad shape. He wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“Last night?” Oh God, whatever happened must have happened just after John left him. Why didn’t he bring Sherlock back to his flat? Screw privacy, he should have just asked him to come back with him. “Where is he now?”

“He’s still in our room. He wouldn’t let me get any help last night, but this morning I heard his alarm and saw he had plans with you. He’s mentioned you a lot, mostly in passing, but yeah… I figured you might be able to help. He might listen to you.”

“Take me too him.” John demanded. Christ, he had been sitting there for over a half hour wallowing in self-pity because he thought he had been stood up, and all the while Sherlock was… He couldn’t think about that, he needed to get to Sherlock.

 

*******

 

It was the frantic banging on his door that woke Sherlock, or perhaps it was the throbbing pain over the majority of his body; possibly both.

“Whoever you are, go away.” He yelled, wincing at the pain as it shot through his chest. It hurt to breathe, let alone yell.

“Sherlock, it’s me,” came John’s voice from the other side of the door, “Malcolm gave me the spare key. I’m coming in.”

“No don’t –” Sherlock started to protest, John couldn’t see him like this. But it was too late, John had already opened the door and was kneeling by Sherlock’s bed.

“Oh my god, Bumble.” He breathed, his hands hovering over Sherlock’s chest. “What happened?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, John. What do you think?”

“They attacked you again, didn’t they?”

“Oh, excellent deduction,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. “I think I’ve got some competition. You don’t need to be here.” Fuck, every little movement hurt.

“What did they do? How many were there? I need to know what they did to you. Please, Sherlock, I need to know.” John pled, his face so soft, so caring. Why did he always care so much?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock bit, struggling to sit up “Three of them – caught me while my guard was down. – Two restrained me – other one ‘taught me a lesson.’ I got a few hits in – I think I scratched one of them, but then they knocked me down. – Started focusing more on protecting myself than fighting back.” He finished with a gasp, even talking hurt; his jaw, his chest, the pain was everywhere.

John smoothed the hair away from Sherlock’s forehead. Leave it to John to offer comfort to the one part of Sherlock’s body that didn’t ache. “Lay back down… You did the right thing.”

“Well that’s comforting to know. It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know, I know.”  John said soothingly, his voiced laced with something… Oh god, it was pity; John pitied him. Poor pathetic Sherlock can’t even walk alone at night without being attacked. Poor pathetic Sherlock can’t even defend himself properly.

“What are you even doing here?” Sherlock groaned.

“Now whose turn is it to ask stupid questions?” John chuckled. “Malcolm showed up to Speedy’s instead of you – nice guy, but a very poor substitute if you don’t mind me saying – and told me you were hurt. Obviously I had to come see you, find out what happened.”

Fucking Malcolm couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Well now you know, and now you can leave. I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, I’m going to chalk this attitude up to you being in pain,” John sighed, “but like hell I’m going to leave you. I’m taking you to hospital.”

“Absolutely not!” Sherlock had to bite back a cry as he bolted upright, his body exploding in renewed pain, black spots obscuring his vision. “I don’t need a hospital. I told you, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine. No, Sherlock, listen to me.” John snapped when Sherlock opened his mouth to interrupt. “This isn’t like before. I could take care of your cuts and bruises before, but this is too much. You’re not breathing right, you could develop pneumonia. Not to mention you could have internal injuries that I have no clue about.”

“Oh here you go again, playing your damn medical student card.”

“Damn right I’m playing the medical student card!” John was practically shouting now, Sherlock had never seen him like this. “I’m not taking no for an answer. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are going to hospital!”

Sherlock retort died on his tongue. John had never used his full name before, he didn’t even know John knew his full name.  It took several moments for him to come back to himself. “I – I said no!” he stuttered.

“I don’t care what you said!”

“What, you think just because of what happened between us last night, that gives you the right to dictate what I do?” Sherlock was seething at this point, who the fuck did John think he was? “You’re not my boyfriend, and you’re not my minder. It was a fling, a one-off, people do it all the time. You scratched an itch.” He snarled. He wasn’t a child, god damn it.

John actually recoiled, looking as though Sherlock had reached out and slapped him. “You’re right.” He said quietly, shaking his head. “No, you’re right. I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your minder. But what I am is your friend, and I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t have friends, and I can look out for myself.”

“Well you have one.” John’s voice was once again calm, but left no room for arguments. “Now I’m taking you to hospital, and you’re going to be checked out by a real doctor if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Or I could just call your brother. I’m sure Mycroft would be happy to step in.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Sherlock growled.

“Watch me.”

The room grew silent as they both stared at each other, as if daring the other to blink first. Why couldn’t John just leave him alone to his misery?

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, and struggled to get to his feet, “but know that I’m doing this under protest.”

“I don’t care how you do, just as long as you do.” John said. He was absolutely insufferable when he thought he’d won. “Oh, and grab some clothes and anything you might need for school. Actually, I’ll do it, you shouldn’t be bending or lifting anything right now.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes. Well, narrowing the one eye that wasn’t almost swollen shut.

“Because as long as those thugs are here, this place isn’t safe. They could jump you the next time you head to the bathroom.”

“And where am I supposed to live if not here? I’ve been beaten to a pulp, and now you expect me to be homeless?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not going to be homeless. You’re going to crash at mine.” John explained, as if that didn’t have its own host of problems. “You know the couch isn’t half bad, no worse than the school mattresses at least.” He added.

“John, I told you I –”

“I know, I know, you don’t need a minder. People crash on their friend’s couches all the time when they need a place to stay. It’s either my place or your parents’, and your parents place is one hell of a commute. Don’t think you’re anything special.” John muttered. “Now, just wait by the door. If you can’t get your coat on, at least drape it over your shoulders.”

 

Five minutes later John was helping Sherlock into the back of a cab – Sherlock’s book bag over one shoulder, his travel bag over the other – and gave the driver the address of the nearest A&E. Sherlock had never felt more pathetic in his life, now there was no way John would ever look at him as anything other than a weakling who needed his protection, and after everything he’d just said… he hated himself. And Sherlock hated himself even more as he leaned against John’s side, as he accepted John’s protection. Pathetic.

 

*******

 

It had been an hour since Sherlock had been taken back to see a doctor – the A&E was blessedly uncrowded so he was taken almost immediately after John helped him through the door – and John was left sat in the waiting room with nothing to do but dwell on Sherlock’s condition. It took his breath away, it physically pained him, when he opened Sherlock’s door to see him like that. It took everything within him not to cry. Sherlock was lying on his bed; he still wore the track bottoms and John’s borrowed sweatshirt from the night before, which were now covered in dirt and something that looked very much like dried blood. His face was a mass of bruises, his left eye almost swollen shut, and those lips that only twelve hours before John had been worshiping, were split and bloodied. Sherlock’s hands showed signs of defensive injuries, and the way he struggled to move and winced while breathing, John could only imagine what other damage was being hidden underneath clothing. John felt absolutely sick. He had to do something, he had to make everything right. Whether Sherlock wanted him to or not, John was going to make those three bastards pay for what they’d done, but that could wait. For now, John had to be there for Sherlock, he had to make sure he was going to be alright. Sherlock had to be alright. If anything happened to Sherlock, if he…

It was his phone vibrating in his hand that finally pulled John out of his spiral of worry, self-doubt, and blinding rage.

 

_[13:06]   Oh shit! He can stay as long as he needs to, I don’t mind_

 

It was Mike. John had texted him earlier to tell him a little of what had happened, and check with him if it was alright Sherlock stay at theirs for the foreseeable future.

 

_[13:08]   Thanks mate – JW_

 

John hadn’t honestly expected Mike to object to Sherlock staying with them, he spent most of his time at Becca’s anyway. And frankly, John wouldn’t have cared if Mike did object, Sherlock was staying with them – with John – no matter what. Still, it was a relief to know Sherlock had more people on his side.

 

“Are you John Watson?” John looked up to see a man in a lab coat and scrubs – Sherlock’s doctor most likely – standing before him.

“What? Yeah him. I mean, yes, I’m John Watson.”

“I’m Dr. Drier, Sherlock’s doctor.” Dr. Drier said, shaking John’s hand. “I’ve heard good things about you.” He added with a light chuckle.

“Oh, um, that’s good I guess.” What the hell had Sherlock said? “How is he? Is he going to be ok?”

“He’s going to be just fine. It looks a lot worse than it really is.” Dr. Drier explained, his voice remaining calm and level. “There was a lot of bruising to his face and torso. His right wrist is sprained, and there’s a lot of swelling to his left knee and ankle, but that should go down with some ice. The worst of it are his ribs. Like I said, there’s a lot of bruising to his torso, and he does have hairline fractures to the sixth and seventh ribs on the left side. They’re very minor breaks, and as long as they stay bound, they’ll heal perfectly.”

Oh Christ. “Right, yeah ok.” John nodded, breathing deeply through his nose. “When can I see him?”

“I can take you back to see him now if you like, but before I do,” Dr. Drier paused, “there’s the matter of how Sherlock got these injuries. Now he told the nurse he sustained them when he fell whilst trying to climb through a second-story window, however…”

“Yeah, no, there was no window.” John shook his head with a groan. “Some guys from his residence hall have it out for him, they did this to him.”

“That makes more sense. In that case, I would advise you to contact the police. Sherlock may wish to press charges. He should press charges.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” John sighed. “But yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

“Good. In the mean time, you said these people share a residence hall with him? Does he have somewhere safe to stay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have a flat off campus. He’s going to be staying with me until we get this sorted.”

“Sherlock’s lucky to have someone who cares about him like you do.” Dr. Drier smiled, patting John on the shoulder. Sherlock would have been a whole hell of a lot luckier of John had done a better job of actually caring for him. He wanted to kick himself, he should be the one with fractures ribs, covered in bruises.

“I’ll take you back to see him now, he’s been asking for you,” Dr. Drier continued, unaware of the self-berating going on in John’s head. “But just so you know, we’ve already given him something for the pain, so he may be a little bit loopy.”

“Oh excellent.” John snorted, cracking the first hint of a smile since Malcolm showed up at Speedy’s.

 

*******

 

“JOHN! You came!” Sherlock cheered when he saw John walk into his cubicle. It kind of hurt to cheer, but who cared, John was there. John would make it all better.

“Yeah Sherlock, I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“Hurty. But they gave me an injection, and it’s not as hurty as it was before.” Sherlock shrugged, grabbing at John’s hand to pull him closer. Mmmm, that was better. John shouldn’t be far away, John needed to be close.

“I’m glad to hear it.” John laughed. John had a nice laugh… and a nice smile, and a nice face.

“Dr. Flat-Face said he was going to get you, but I wasn’t sure if he was telling me the truth.”

“Dr. Flat-Face? You mean, Dr. Drier? That’s not a very nice name to call him after he made you not as hurty.”

“But he has a flat face!” Sherlock frowned, looking up to see the man himself standing by the curtain. “Dr. Flat-Face, look! This is my John! The John I was telling you about!”

“I can see that.”

“Well he’s not _MY_ John. I wish he was my John. He was kind of my John last night. If he was really _my_ John, I’d –”

“Ok, I think that’s enough.” John laughed nervously, cutting Sherlock off. That wasn’t nice, he was just going to say that if John were his John he’d – “Dr. Drier says you’re good to go.”

“Can I go with yoooou?”

“Yep, you’re coming with me.” John said, helping Sherlock to his feet. John was so helpful, and considerate, and strong, and sexy. “They’ve given me your prescriptions, and all sorts of instructions, so I get to take you home now.”

“You can take me anywhere!”

“Ha, that’s… uh… I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anytime, anyplace, anywhere.” Sherlock whispered, leaning in as close to John as possible. Dr. Flat-Face didn’t need to know, it was for him and John only. “If you want, I’ll let you be my doctor.”

“Jesus Christ.” John mumbled. “Ok, Dr. Drier, thank you for everything you’ve done for him, and thank the nurses. He couldn’t have been an easy patient.” He smiled sheepishly at Dr. Flat-Face. Why was he smiling at Dr. Flat-Face? John’s smiles were wasted on Dr. Flat-Face. “And – uh – sorry about the whole name calling thing, I don’t think he knows what he’s saying.”

“Yes I do!” Sherlock protested. “I’m brilliant, you know. You call me brilliant all the time, and I always know what I’m saying. Goodbye Dr. Flat-Face!”

“Goodbye Sherlock.” Dr. Flat-Face chuckled. “And John, don’t worry, these side effects should wear off in a few hours. Remember to keep his pain under control, ice on the wrist and leg, and make sure he’s careful of his ribs.”

“I will, thank you again. Come on, Sherlock, let’s get out of here.”

“Finally!” Sherlock sighed, and allowed John to lead him out of the hospital and into a waiting cab. Oh the things he was going to do to John in the back of that cab; he was just formulating a list when John slid in after him, and Sherlock promptly fell asleep, slumped against his protector.

 

*******

 

If John were a worse person, he would have filmed the heavily medicated Sherlock for blackmail purposes. As it was, John wasn’t that mean; that, and struggling to get Sherlock from the cab and into his flat meant he didn’t have a free hand to hold his phone. But mostly it was the he was a good, considerate friend.

It was just past four o’clock when John half dragged Sherlock into the presently empty flat. It would have been nice to have a little help, but given Sherlock’s present lack of filter, it was probably best that Mike wasn’t around to hear what Sherlock would reveal or admit to next. John didn’t bother stopping at the couch – which Mike had been nice enough to set up as a bed – but instead steered Sherlock towards his bedroom. With the cracked ribs, and drug-induced lack of coordination, John’s bed seemed the safer option, at least for the first night. Actually getting Sherlock into the bed was a different story all together. Every time John tried to sit him down, Sherlock would struggle to stand back up.

“But it’s still light outside. I’ve never had bedtime when the sun is still out.” Sherlock pouted, swaying a bit on his feet. He had slept the entire cab ride over, but like the six foot toddler he was, was insisting he ‘didn’t sleep’ and ‘wasn’t tired.’

“So just humor me.” John sighed as he pushed Sherlock back down and started unlacing his trainers. Fortunately Sherlock had re-dressed in clean sweats at the hospital, so John didn’t have to worry about dirt and blood in his bed, or having to undress Sherlock himself. “You don’t have to sleep; you just have to get comfortable. I can bring you a book or your laptop once you get settled.” It was a safe offer to make, because John knew the second Sherlock laid down, he would be out like a light.

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed, giving up the fight and allowed John to remove his shoes and arrange the pillows around him, propping up against the headboard. “But I’m not going to sleep.” He yawned, his eyes already starting to close.

“Fine by me. I’ll be out in the living room, so if you need anything, just give me a shout.”

“Why would I need anything?”

“No idea.” John hummed, tucking in the blanket.       

“Wait!” Sherlock’s hand shot out; stopping John as he was about to head for the door. “There’s enough room for two, you can stay.”

“That’s alright Sherlock, you get some rest.”

“Just don’t tell John.” Sherlock whispered, apparently unaware of who he was talking to. “And no sex…” John nearly choked. “I bet John’s really good at sex. I want to have sex with him, I only want to have sex with him, only him. We sort of had sex. Don’t tell him I told you, I don’t know if he wants people to know. But he called me Bumble, like the bee. I like bees, but not as much as I like John. It goes bees, then puzzles, then John on top. I bet John's a top. He wants to take me on a date. But don’t tell John, I don’t think he wants people to know.”

At this point, John’s mouth had gone completely dry, unable to believe what he was hearing. “O – ok” he stumbled, swallowing hard. “I – I won’t tell him. But I bet – I bet he wants people to know.”

“I understand if he doesn’t want people to know, I don’t deserve John. John’s too good for me, too good to me.” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes closed.

“I’m pretty sure he feels he doesn’t deserve you.”

“He’s wrong. Thank him for me, will you? He saved me, took me to hospital. I don’t deserve him. I said mean things. I didn’t mean them. I don’t deserve him.”

“Ok.” John hummed as Sherlock finally gave in and drifted off to sleep

John sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, just watching as Sherlock slept. He was almost afraid of leaving him, afraid that if he let him out of his sight, he would just slip away. It was ridiculous, Dr. Drier said Sherlock was going to be fine. His ribs would heal, his bruises would fade, he was going to be fine. But still, as he looked down at the black and blue marks that marred Sherlock’s normally alabaster skin, John felt his heart clench.

“You know, this really isn’t how I pictured getting you in my bed for the first time.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead – seemingly the only part of the beautiful idiot left un-bruised. “Sleep tight, Bumble.” He added before slipping out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

 

~

 

It wasn’t fair, John thought, flopping down on the couch. Nothing Sherlock could have possibly done would have ever warranted being assaulted. It wasn’t fair that Sherlock’s attackers were probably making plans and getting ready for a night out, probably patting themselves on the back, while Sherlock was left suffering. Well, let them have their night, let them think they’d won, because they weren’t going to be congratulating themselves for long. John was going to make sure they were held accountable for what they’d done. But first, he’d need to make sure Sherlock was onboard. So, keeping an ear tuned towards his bedroom in case he was needed, John started planning his next move, and started organizing everything they’d need going forward.

One way or another, John was going to make this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it's going to be alright eventually. And I gave you some drugged up Sherlock san filter, does that make things even slightly better???? Plus there was some John 'Man on a Mission' Watson, that's always nice, right?
> 
> Well, if I've brought dishonor on myself, on my family, or on my cow, let me know with some comments and/or corrections!


	11. Recovery and Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts the road to recovery, and John moves forward with his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! (Well, at least it's Friday for me, it may already be Saturday for some of you). I honestly think this is a more positive chapter than the last one to start your weekend. But our boys are still idiots, and there a wee bit of worry/angst, so there's still that.

It was the dull all over ache that finally woke Sherlock. Keeping his eyes shut, as if that could keep the intensifying pain at bay, he instead tried to focus on his surroundings. He was in his bed… No, wait, not his bed, this bed was much softer than the piss-poor school mattresses. And the smell, he hummed, it was a good smell, it smelled like…

“John.” Sherlock’s eyes flew open as that morning came rushing back to him. At least he thought it was that morning – it was dark outside and he couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. John had come to his room – seen him beaten and broken – he had taken him to hospital, insisted he be checked out by real doctors. The last thing Sherlock remembered was the nurse injecting him with something, and now he was… now he was in John’s flat, in John’s bed. This was decidedly not how he thought he would be ending up in John’s bed.

Light spilled in through the open door, and Sherlock could hear low voices coming from beyond, someone else had to be in the flat.

“John?” He called again a little louder, winching at the pain in his chest, which he found was bound. Ah, he must have cracked ribs, or they’d at least been severely bruised.

He heard footsteps, the floorboards of the hallway creaking, and then, “Sherlock?” John’s voice was soft, and Sherlock could see his outline in the doorway. “Hey, good, you’re awake. How are you feeling? How’s your pain?” He asked, moving into the room and turning on the corner lamp, a glass of water in his hand.

“Horrible. How long was I asleep?”

“About four and a half hours. Here,” John said, offering the glass of water and two little white pills, “you’re due for a dose of pain meds.”

“I’ll be fine.”

John just shook his head and shoved the pills into Sherlock’s hand. “Nope, none of that ‘grin and bear it’ nonsense. The more painful your ribs are, the shallower your breathing will be, and the more likely you are of developing a respiratory infection.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but swallowed the pills with a swig of water all the same. John really could be ridiculously stubborn at times. But it wouldn’t hurt to humor him, and Sherlock found the pain far more uncomfortable than what he was used to.

“You should start feeling the effects in about twenty minutes or so.”

“Wonderful.” Sherlock groaned, keeping his tone flat.

“Well, as long as it makes you less ‘hurty’, that’s all I care about.”

Hurty? What the hell was John talking about? Perhaps he had taken a blow to the head as well.

“I take it you don’t remember much from earlier today.” John laughed, clearly reading Sherlock’s confusion. “When I came back to take you home, you were a bit out of it.” He explained. “You told me they gave you an injection that, quote, made you less hurty.”

A wave of horror washed over Sherlock. “I – I did? What, uh, what else did I say?” He asked, imagining himself spilling all his inner most thoughts to or about John. Not good, really not good.

“Nothing of import,” John shrugged, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “Don’t worry.” He was lying, Sherlock had said something stupid, he knew it. But it couldn’t have been too horrible; there would have been no way John would have brought him back to his flat. John would have just called Mycroft to deal with him if he had done or said something too revealing.

As they were wont to do, they eventually slipped into silence, neither knowing quite what to say, but neither really feeling the need to fill the empty space with idle conversation. It was their quiet, companionable silence, at least it was until Sherlock’s stomach decided to growl.

“Hungry are you?” John chuckled.

Sherlock blushed. “Perhaps a bit.”

“No need to be embarrassed, it’s good to be reminded that you’re only human.”

“Only human? John, you wound me.” Sherlock pouted. “It’s not good for my healing.”

“And what kind of future doctor would be if I set your recovery back.” John grinned. Was he flirting? Sherlock was well aware of the fact that John had flirted with him the night before – was it really only twenty-four hours ago? – but surely after everything that happened, after everything he had said, John wouldn’t still be interested. No… no John wouldn’t be flirting with him anymore, that ship had sailed.

“But actually, you probably should have something to eat,” John continued, seemingly unaware of the back and forth going on in Sherlock’s head. “I’m just assuming you haven’t had anything since yesterday, and it’s good to keep your energy up. Plus those pills should actually be taken with food.”

“And what do you suggest I eat?” Sherlock asked, shifting to sit up a bit more. “Given the state of my face, chewing may prove difficult.”

“I anticipated that problem and took care of it.” John beamed. “It’s not gourmet or anything, but I had a few choices of soups delivered. Chicken noodle – always a classic – a tomato soup, creamy potato, and broccoli cheddar. It’s your choice, but I’d suggest the potato, it’ll probably be easiest on your stomach, and more calorie rich.”

“You put some thought in to this.” Sherlock snorted, then immediately regretted it. The pain in his ribs was not as bad as it was when he first woke up, but it was still rather unpleasant.

“You said it yourself, it’s my caregiver nature. So, what’ll it be?”

“Well, I’d be a fool to argue with my doctor. If you say I should have the potato, I’ll have the potato.”

“Be right back!” John leapt up, and was out of the room before Sherlock could say anything else.

“I could have come out to the kitchen, you know.” Sherlock said once John had returned a few minutes later with a bowl of soup and another glass of water.

“Nay, it’s fine, you’re already settled here.” John said, setting the bowl on the side table and adjusted Sherlock’s pillows again. “Just don’t expect me to wait on you hand and foot after this.” He added pointedly.

“Well I’m going to have to get up anyway to move to your couch. Actually, why am I in your bed in the first place?”

“Because you were all loopy when I brought you home, and didn’t trust you not to fall off the couch and make things worse. It’s ok, you can stay here. I’m fine with the couch.”

“John…”

“Oh this isn’t a permanent situation.” John laughed, shaking his head. “No, the first night is a freebie, tomorrow your bony bruised butt moves to out the couch and I reclaim my bed.”

“Now that you mention it, I am rather bruised…” Sherlock smirked, lifting an eyebrow.

“And you’ll be bruised no matter where you are. Now eat your soup before it gets cold.”

 

As Sherlock ate, John filled him in on everything he had missed from the hospital until he recently woke up. His deductions were correct; he had two cracked ribs, in addition to the extensive bruising, sprained wrist, and swollen knee and ankle. He had also apparently gifted the A&E doctor with a rather unfortunate nickname that John found rather amusing – though he tried to deny it. There was more John wasn’t saying, that much was obvious, but Sherlock wasn’t going to let it bother him, he’d figure it out in due time. At the moment, Sherlock was just going to enjoy sitting with John, listening to him talk.

“I think I should probably let you get some more sleep,” John said, glancing towards the clock that read quarter to eleven.

“I think you might be right.” Sherlock yawned. Though he hated to admit it, with everything it had gone through in the past day, his transport demanded rest.

“You’re due for another two pills at about one. I’ll leave them right here, so if the pain wakes you up, don’t hesitate to take them. And call me if you need anything or need to get up.”

“Yes, doctor.” Sherlock chuckled, albeit carefully. “I fear you’re too good to me, John.”

A small smile flitted across John’s face. “So I’ve heard.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” John waved his hand, dismissing whatever it was. “Before I forget, I grabbed this guy from your room. He’s obviously well loved, so I thought he might want to come too, you know, to help you get better.”

John reached into Sherlock’s travel bag and pulled out something yellow and black.

“BuzzBee!” Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing the little plush bee before he could stop himself. Well, if his chances with John weren’t dead before, the sight of a nineteen year old clutching a toy to his chest had to be the final nail in the coffin. “I mean… uh… thank you. You… um… you didn’t need to do that.”

“What, and risk pissing off BuzzBee by leaving him behind? Not on your life.”

“John, you are utterly ridiculous.” Sherlock mumbled, hugging the bee just a bit tighter.

“To you maybe.” John smiled. “Goodnight Sherlock, goodnight BuzzBee, remember to call me if you need anything.”

What if I just need you, Sherlock thought.

“I will. And… uh… and thank you for making me go to A&E, and… um… and for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” John smiled, he really did have a lovely smile. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

*******

 

Sherlock on bed rest was a nightmare, an absolute, living, breathing, whining nightmare. By early Monday evening, John was seriously considering calling up Dr. Drier and getting another dose of whatever they drugged Sherlock with at the hospital. At least that way he’d be a bit more relaxed, and less argumentative. At the rate things were going, John was going to be completely grey by twenty-five.

“You can’t possibly expect me to stay inside!” Sherlock huffed, limping into the kitchen after John.

“I’m not saying you have to be locked away. I’m not keeping you prisoner in here or anything.”

“Really? So what was ‘I don’t think you should go out yet,’ supposed to mean?”

“Just that,” John groaned. “You’re recovering from a pretty nasty beating. I mean look, you’re still limping!” He sighed, looking pointedly at Sherlock’s leg. “I know you, Sherlock, you can’t take things easy. A few more days of rest will give your healing a serious head start.”

“But I _have_ been resting. What do you think I was doing all day today… and yesterday?! All I’ve been doing is resting.”

“Just humor me, Sherlock. A few more days aren’t going to kill you.” John could feel a headache coming on. Forget grey by twenty-five, he’d be grey by twenty-one in a half. He might actually be dead by twenty-five. And Mike’s amused snickering from the living room wasn’t helping matters.

Suddenly Sherlock smiled like the cat that got the cream, as he he’d found his trump card. “But I have classes tomorrow. Surely you aren’t suggesting I skip classes, are you?”

“Oh, like there’s anything any of your professors could teach you that you don’t already know.” John said, crossing his arms across his chest. For god’s sake, he had a sprained wrist which would make writing anything next to impossible. But John didn’t want to mention that, Sherlock would take it as a challenge. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of it for you.”

“Taken care of it? You’ve taken care of it how?”

“I made arrangements to get all the notes and materials you need. I’m already going to your metabolism class, Molly is in two of your other courses and she’s agreed to help, and I spoke to the professor of your fourth class and he’s going to let me record it for you.”

“That was thorough.” Sherlock mumbled, looking as though the wind had been knocked out of his sails. “Hold on. You’ve figured out my whole class situation, but what do you suggest I do all day? My brain will rot!”

John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing; he had never met anyone so dramatic. It was a little bit surprising Sherlock hadn’t decided to fall into a swoon.

“I’ve got that covered too. I picked those up on my way home today.” John said, nodding to the two boxes on the floor. “Cold case files courtesy of Greg… courtesy of Lestrade.” He clarified when Sherlock just stared at him. Three years he’d known the man, and still Sherlock refused to learn his first name.

“You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Yep. The cases should last you at least a little while, and by the time you’ve solved them all, you should be recovered enough to go out again. You will still need to take it easy, though.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John could see the small smile creep across his face. “Now do we have any of that risotto left? I find I’m getting hungry again.”

 

~

 

The rest of the evening passed easily enough. The prospect of two boxfuls of cases seemed to be enough to distract Sherlock from his convalescence, and John was just happy to eat leftovers and study for his orthopedics mid-term in the relative calm. The calm, however, was not to last very long because there was one more subject to be broached, and John was not looking forward to it.

Mike had gone to bed about an hour before – or at least he went to his room – and John had finished writing up his study notes, there were no more excuses, it was time to rip off the Band-Aid.

“Hey Sherlock,” John said hesitantly.

Sherlock didn’t bother looking up from the file he was reading, and just made a non committal humming sound.

“There’s… um… there’s something I want to talk to you about. You may not like, but I want you to try to listen.”

“You’re kicking me out.” Sherlock said abruptly, finally putting the file aside and sitting up. He sounded crushed, but resigned.

“What? No! No one’s getting kicked out. No.” John shook his head. God, was that really what Sherlock thought of him? Did he really think John would do that after everything that had happened over the past few days? “It’s about who did this to you.”

“John –”

“No, Sherlock, listen; I know you wouldn’t tell me before, but they’ve escalated. You got lucky, but the damage could have so been much worse. I want to know who did this, I want their names.”

“And what will knowing their names do? Are you going to hunt them down, beat them up in the name of some kind of ‘eye for an eye’ type justice?”

John would have loved to take more than just an eye for what they’d done. Actually, his first plan was to find them one by one, sprain both wrists, break four ribs, make both eyes swell shut, and then castrate them all for good measure. Nobody needed them in the gene pool.

“Obviously not.” He sighed. “I think you should report them, have them brought up on charges.”

“Charges? John, you’re being ridiculous.”

“How am I being ridiculous? You’re the crime expert, I shouldn’t have to tell you assault and battery is a crime.”

“Assault and battery.” Sherlock scoffed. “It’s not a big deal. You had me checked out, I’m going to be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m some innocent. You know I’m not one to mince words, you know I’m an arse.”         

“So what if you’re an arsehole? That’s not an excuse for beating you to a bloody pulp!” Did Sherlock actually think he deserved being jumped? John was absolutely flabbergasted. “And thank god you’re going to be ok, but do you have any idea how easily you might not have been? For god’s sake they broke your ribs!”

Christ, John needed to get a hold of himself, he really didn’t need Mike coming out to investigate. “Please listen to me Sherlock, they can’t be allowed to get away with this. I don’t even want to think about what could happen next time.”

“There isn’t going be a next time.” Sherlock snapped.

“You’re damn right there’s not going to be a next time. We’re going to report them!”

“Good god! Reporting them won’t change anything.”

“And you think just ignoring it will?” What little patience John had left was dwindling fast.  “You tried ignoring it, and you defended yourself, and it just got worse. Their getting away with it, and they’re going to keep doing it. This will not stop until they are held accountable for their actions. Please, Sherlock, I can’t do this by myself. I can’t – I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Letting his head drop to his hands, John took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. He felt worn out, stretched, like butter spread over too much bread.

“John –”

“You know what, never mind. I’ve got some more reading to do, so I’ll see you… I’ll see you tomorrow.” John mumbled, getting up and heading for his room. “Just please think about what I’ve said.”

 

John got into bed, and for ten minutes just sat with his textbook propped up against his knees. He couldn’t concentrate, he’d try to read a paragraph and the words would slip from his mind. Why the hell was Sherlock being so obstinate? Why couldn’t he see that John was just trying to help him? Sherlock had to be the one to do this, John couldn’t go behind his back and do it for him – even if it would be for the idiot’s own good – but he just wasn’t budging. John was just starting to come up with other approaches he could take, when he heard the creak of the floorboards outside his room.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice came from the doorway, all bite and annoyance gone. “John, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t realize what you might be feeling. I never meant –”

“It’s alright, Sherlock.” John sighed, looking up to see Sherlock leaning against the doorway, concern and regret etched on his bruised face. “It’s not your fault. I just want to do everything possible to ensure this doesn’t happen to you ever again. Or that they might do this to someone else.”

“I know you do.”

“Come on, sit down. You look dead on your feet.” John said, sliding over to make room for Sherlock. “So tell me why you don’t want to report them. Why don’t you think reporting them will do anything? And the real reason this time.”

Sherlock looked away, and for a few moments John wasn’t sure if he was even going to say anything. “Sebastian Wilkes.” He finally said, letting out a breath.

“Is he the one who –”

“Yes, he and two of his friends are the ones who have been harassing me, but he’s the ring leader.” Sherlock still wasn’t looking at him; John wished he would, if only to see that he wasn’t judging him, to see that he had nothing to be ashamed of. “Sebastian’s parents are well connected, and carry a lot of influence. Even if charges are filed against Sebastian and his friends, it’s more than likely nothing will come of it. All that will happen is I will have pissed them off more, and things could get even worse.”

“What kind of influence?”

“Let’s just say they’ve made sizable contributions to the election campaigns of several government officials, and frequent the same clubs as the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police.”

_Shit._

“Well what about your dad? Surely he has some sway too. Didn’t you say he holds a ‘minor position in the British Security Service?’ And Mycroft, he’s rising through the government ranks at an alarming pace.” This couldn’t be the end of it. They couldn’t let the piece of filth using Mummy and Daddy to get him and his friends out of trouble, not when it was something this serious.

“So you think we should combat his connections with ours?” Sherlock sounded skeptical.

“I’m not suggesting we go in guns blazing or anything.” John replied, trying not to think too hard on the fact that Sherlock had just referred to them a unit. “But if it comes to it, yeah. If only to make sure they’re not abusing their pull.”

Sherlock grew quiet again, a small crease forming as he furrowed his brow. John didn’t want to move, didn’t want to say anything to disturb him, so he sat and waited and watched. He watched Sherlock think, as his words and arguments pinballed around Sherlock’s brain along whatever pathway in whatever patterns thoughts took in his funny, amazing head.  Sherlock would do the right thing, John knew it – knew Sherlock – and John would be there beside him every step of the way. No matter what, no matter how long, John would be there.

“Alright.” Sherlock said nearly five minutes later, his voice barely above a whisper. If John hadn’t been sitting right next to him, he would have missed it. “Alright, we’ll report them. But I want to do this my way.”

John felt about fifty pounds lighter. “Of course. You’re way, always your way.” It was a struggle to keep his voice level, he wanted to cheer.

“I want the police involved only as a last resort. I want to try to handle this privately.”

“Ok,” John felt a bit skeptical, but he had to trust Sherlock. “Ok, but can I make one request?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“I want the school involved in some capacity. I’m not saying I’ll campaign to have them expelled,” though he would love nothing more, “I just want the school to know who they have on campus.”

“That’s probably wise.” Sherlock nodded. “So, how do we go about this?”

“I thought we were going to do this your way.”

“We are,” Sherlock smiled, “but you’ve clearly been plotting since Saturday, and it seems a shame for that all to go to waste.”

 

The next hour passed quickly as they discussed what evidence they had, and what they would need to obtain in order to properly incriminate and stop Sebastian and his cronies. It wasn’t until John had asked a question and received no answer, that he noticed Sherlock had actually fallen asleep. Sherlock looked so peaceful in sleep – not that John made it a habit of watching him sleep – even with the angry bruises – and giving into temptation, he ran a hand through Sherlock’s curls before pulling the blanket up around him. He couldn’t very well wake the man and make him move back out to the couch, not when he was already settled and soundly asleep. No, Sherlock could take his bed again, and John would just go out to the living room.

John knew he should take the couch, it was the right thing to do, but dammit he was sick of doing the right thing all the time. It was his bed, he had the right to sleep in his own bed. And after all, it wasn’t like he was going to be taking advantage of Sherlock, the bed was big enough for both of them. And so, after setting out Sherlock next dose of pain meds and a bottle of water, John slid in under the covers and fell asleep with Sherlock Holmes next to him for the first time.

 

Neither John, nor Sherlock made any comment when they woke the next morning, John just got ready for the day, and Sherlock went out to the living room and his cold case files. It was as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. But something had changed. After that first night, Sherlock started coming to John’s bed more and more often. The first few times after that first night, Sherlock would come in under the pretext of needing to say something or to ask John a question, but eventually the need for pretext fell away.  It wasn’t every night, and it was never for anything more than sleep – they resolutely avoided the topic of what had happened between them that night in Carrows – but every few nights John would wake to find Sherlock lying next to him, often times holding onto a small bit of John’s t-shirt. John didn’t mind, if that’s what Sherlock needed to feel safe, John – and his t-shirt – would be there for him as long as they were needed. If it just so happened that the first thing John saw in the mornings was Sherlock next to him, well that was just an added bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock totally woke up first that first day, saw John sleeping next to him, and had a mini freak out. He totally got super still like, "maybe if I don't move, he won't notice anything out of the ordinary, and I can stay." Such a silly goose.
> 
> Well, have a good weekend and I'll see you again on Sunday. Oh, and if you're trying to think of something to do to pass the time, you could, I don't know, maybe leave me some of those lovely comments and/or corrections. Totally your call, I don't care, whatever *cool guy finger guns*


	12. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the plan devised, all that's left is to gather and compile the evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have said this earlier, but if you guys have ANY questions at all about what's going on in the story, please feel free to ask. Yes the story is written, but I'm editing and changing things as I post, so it'd be great to know if I've dropped something or made something unclear. I'm always looking for ways of improving and making sure this is the best final product it can be!
> 
> Now about this chapter, just as a heads-up, there are some derogatory/homophobic terms said. I hope no one is offended.
> 
> On the plus side, in this chapter I give you BAMF John unleashed!
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock was seriously starting to regret ever agreeing to the stupid notion of John’s that his attackers ‘needed to be punished.’ Over the course of three weeks, they had collected every scrap of evidence they would need to ‘make the case.’ That next day after outlining their plan – together in John’s room, in John’s bed – they had taken pictures of all of Sherlock’s injuries; the cuts and bruise were still quite vivid against his otherwise pale skin. They even unwrapped his ribs, and it had taken an additional several minutes for Sherlock to calm John down and stop him from scrapping the plan altogether and just killing Sebastian and his cronies himself. Now Sherlock was wishing he’d just let John murder them; he certainly would have been able to figure out a way to get John acquitted.

After the photos, they spoke with Lestrade, in a strictly ‘off the record’ capacity of course. He was reluctant at first, advising them to just go through the police, but agreed to help nonetheless. He drew up an official report, filled in all the relevant details, and then held off on filing until necessary.

They had the photos, Lestrade was onboard, they had a report from the hospital and Sherlock’s medical records. Both Molly and Malcolm had even given statements, and agreed, if needed, to testify as witnesses to Sebastian’s ongoing harassment of Sherlock. Everything was almost set, they were almost ready, which lead Sherlock to the one thing he’d been dreading, the one thing that made him want to abandon the whole idea: meeting with Mycroft.  

It was bad enough he had to deal with getting every single injury documented – often from multiple angles – and explain their rudimentary plan multiple times to those involved, but the fact that they needed Mycroft to put it all together just made it worse. It was Sherlock’s own fault really, he had wanted to handle everything privately, and Mycroft had the resources necessary to facilitate it. Sherlock’s father had the resources as well, but given his position, he agreed to step in only if absolutely necessary. So Sherlock was stuck sitting across from Mycroft yet again.

 

“And is this everything, brother mine?” Mycroft asked, thumbing through Dr. Drier’s report for the twelfth time.

“Almost,” Sherlock sighed. It was ridiculous, they’d gone over everything at least four times, and that was three times more than either Sherlock or Mycroft needed. “John’s getting the last piece tomorrow. We wanted to wait until we were absolutely ready to go.”

“Ah yes, ‘the confession.’” Mycroft said. “Now I know how much trust you have in your little… _friend_ , but are you positive John has the skills necessary to extract a confession without tipping off Messrs. Wilkes, Van Coon, and Lukis?”

“Yes, absolutely. Just because John doesn’t carry the surname Holmes or Vernet, that does not mean he isn’t intelligent and capable… to a degree.”

“Doesn’t carry the surname Holmes yet.” Mycroft hummed.

“What was that?” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh pay me no mind, baby brother.”

“If only I could.” Sherlock sneered, wishing he could wipe that cloying look off Mycroft’s face.

“Yes, well… I hope you are correct in your assessment of Mr. Watson’s acting talents.  While the evidence you have already is damning enough, a taped admission of guilt would be the proverbial nail.”

“Don’t worry, they are. Are we done here?”

“Yes, yes. Everything appears to be in order. Just have the recording of the confession delivered to me as soon as you’ve obtained it, and we can immediately contact the school and ‘the accused.’”

“I… yes I’ll do that.” Sherlock nodded. “Um… Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you for doing this.”

“You know I will always try to look out for you, baby brother.” Mycroft’s smile lacked some of its usual condescending edge. “Though I must say, I believe my job has been usurped. And loathe as I am to admit it, I’m rather glad John Watson refused my offer of money for information. He’s been a good influence on you.”

“Oh lord, Mycroft,” Sherlock blanched, “there’s no need to get all sentimental on me.”

“Says the man who just thanked me.” Mycroft retorted with a snort. “Go on and return to your little love nest. Forgive me, your temporary accommodations. You are still only staying on his sofa, correct?” He added, smirk firmly back in place.

“Goodbye Mycroft.” Sherlock said feeling flushed, and made as quick an exit as he could without appearing to flee. Despite what Mycroft might believe, Sherlock was not a child, and he didn’t need to justify his and John’s relationship – or lack of a relationship as the case may be – to his big brother.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure how Mycroft knew about their occasional sleeping habits. He wouldn’t have put it past the git to have installed cameras in John and Mike’s flat. But it shouldn’t matter that Sherlock sometimes shared John’s bed. John’s bed was soft, and it was far better for his recovery than the couch. Most of his injuries had healed, but his ribs were still tender after all. Anyway, it was all completely innocent, there were no ulterior motives behind the arrangement – at least on John’s end – and Mycroft needed to learn to leave well enough alone. Sherlock could only imagine the upheaval if Mycroft decided to drop his little funny innuendos around John. Doing them a favor or not, Mycroft was a nosy, overfed, misinformed, arse.

 

*******

 

Sometimes being a TA came in very handy. As soon as Sherlock gave him the names, John was able to easily look up Sebastian Wilkes, Edward Van Coon, and Brian Lukis. He knew what they looked like and had their schedules within seconds. Strictly speaking he wasn’t allowed to go into the files of students not in his course, but a little abuse of power wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Actually, it might hurt those three, John thought as he pressed record on his phone, and strolled over to where Sebastian and his lackeys were standing.

“Hey, are you the one who beat up that Holmes kid?” John asked feigning nonchalance. It wasn’t the smoothest opener, but not everyone could be as skilled in the art of deception as Sherlock.

Sebastian – the smarmy prick who by the looks of him could have doubled for the trust fund villain in an eighties movie – eyed him skeptically. “Maybe. Why are you asking?”

“Oh sorry, I’m John.” John said, offering Sebastian his hand. “Holmes is in one of my classes this term, and that kid’s been a pain in my arse all semester.” It was an effort to keep his tone light and casual when he was vividly picturing himself breaking every bone in Sebastian’s body. “I just thought whoever it was who got him to stop coming to class deserved a drink.”

“Alright, yeah, that was me. The three of us actually.” Sebastian actually puffed up his chest. God, Sherlock was right, this guy was a moron. “Holmes shot his mouth off, got all full of himself, so we decided to teach him a lesson.”

“Shit, what’d you guys do? I mean, I saw his face, but…”

“Oh, it was great! Little bitch didn’t know what hit him!” Brian piped up.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nodded. He was proud of this, the sick fuck. “We’ve been hassling the freak all year, but then we stopped. We left him alone, made him think he was safe, yeah? So then a couple weeks ago we catch him coming back late one night. He was all distracted, and had a freaky grin on his face.” John stomach was in knots; he had been the reason Sherlock was distracted that night. They had just… Sherlock had been happy, and then…

“He was probably off strangling small animals or something.” Sebastian continued, laughing at his own joke. “Anyway, that’s when we jumped him. He actually tried to fight back, actually managed to scratch Eddie. But he couldn’t fight long. It’s kind of difficult with a foot in your gut.” At this point, John was seething. But he kept his mouth shut and maintained his composure, had was just going to let this bastard dig himself and his friends deeper “We told him he might as well just leave school now, because no one wanted him around. Warned him too, told him that anytime we see him, we’d make sure he knew just how unwanted he is.”

“Great, that’s just what I needed.” John smiled, stopping his phone. He really didn’t need to record what came next. “Thanks gents!”

Both Sebastian and Brian grinned back at John, but Eddie was frowning at him.

“Hold on,” he said, stepping forward. “You said your name is John? You’re John Watson, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” John replied, the false joviality gone from his voice, he had no need for it anymore.

Eddie’s face paled as his eyes grew wide. “Shit!” he exclaimed, backing up. “Seb, he’s Holmes’s boyfriend! My friend Xander is on the football team with him, he says the two of them are always together.”

“What, really? Holmes has a boyfriend? Should have known he was a pillow biter.” Sebastian snorted, turning to John. “Do you seriously fuck that freak? I didn't think fucking him was even possible? Or are you the cock joc –”

Sebastian didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as John had slammed him face first into the nearest wall, both arms pinned behind his back.

“What I do or don’t do with Sherlock Holmes, what we are to each other, is not of your business _._ And I’d watch what you say, _Seb_ ,” John growled, wrenching one of Sebastian’s arms up even higher. “I’ve been known to have a bit of a temper, and your little friends just ran away. Do you feel that?” he asked, wrenching Sebastian’s arm again. “That’s your axillary nerve, and that’s it being pinched, being damaged. You’re really not in any position to piss me off.”

"Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Sebastian cried, his whimpers muffled by the wall.

“Oh believe me, you’re going to be sorry. Don’t even think about coming anywhere near Sherlock ever again. If I hear that you, or any of your friends, so much as looked at Sherlock wrong, I will do a whole hell of a lot worse than this.”

“We’ll leave him alone, we’ll leave him alone!” Sebastian was blubbering now. “It happened weeks ago, why are you only coming after us now?” The pathetic worm didn’t know when to quit.

“Maybe I wanted to leave you alone to _‘make you feel safe.’_ Now I’m going to let you go, and you run along and tell the others exactly what we discussed. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, yes. I understand.”

“Good. And one more suggestion, because I’m nice like that, I think you three should start looking into other schools. _‘Nobody wants you here’_ ” John hissed, before releasing Sebastian. He wasn’t going to lie, he rather enjoyed frightening Sebastian, and the sight of the cretin running away with his tail between his legs, grasping his bloodied chin, was icing on the cake.

John allowed himself a few moments to savor the moment for a little longer, before slipping his phone out of his jacket pocket to check the quality of the recording. Finding it up to snuff, there was only one more thing to do.

 

_[14:07]   *MMS*_

_[14:07]   Confession in full. Do with it as you see fit – JW_

_[14:17]   Excellent work, John. I will make contact with the other parties at the end of the business day – MH_

_[14:18]   I’m pleased my brother’s faith in you was not misplaced – MH_

_[14:20]   Me too. Thank you for your help, Mycroft – JW_

 

_[14:21]   Thank you for yours. The things we do for my brother – MH_

_[14:32]   Yes – JW_

_~***~_

_[14:22]   Idiots admitted everything. Just sent the recording to Mycroft. Phase 2 begins at the end of the day – JW_

_[14:23]   Excellent! I told Mycroft you could pull it off – SH_

_[14:23]   Must you really refer to things as phases? – SH_

_[14:24]   And Sebastian and the others are still among the living, correct? – SH_

_[14:25]   I must, and unfortunately they are. Wounded egos more than anything else – JW_

_[14:26]   Van Coon may have pissed himself though – JW_

_[14:27]   A sight to behold I’m sure – SH_

_[14:27]   I wish you could have seen it – JW_

_[14:28]   Are you planning on actually eating dinner tonight? – JW_

_[14:29]   Might as well, we are transitioning from Phase 1 to Phase 2 after all – SH_

_[14:29]   :p - SH_

_[14:30]  That’s the spirit! My class goes until 7, so I’ll pick up something on the way home. Preference? – JW_

_[14:30]   Mexican – SH_

_[14:30]   Sounds good – JW_

_[14:31]   Class starting. See you at home – SH_

_[14:31]   See you at home – JW_

_[14:32]   :) – JW_

*******

              

Sherlock swallowed hard as he looked down at the text massage that had just come in.

 

_[17:28]   It’s done – MH_

That was it, the school had been contacted, the Wilkes’s, Van Coons, and Lukis’s had been contacted. There was no going back; all that was left to do now was see this thing out to its conclusion. Sherlock knew the evidence was on their side, and – though he’d die before ever admitting it – Mycroft was an excellent negotiator. It should be cut and dry, it should be a straight forward win, Sherlock knew this, but that didn’t stop the wave of panic that washed over him and settle in his gut.

“Is everything ok?” Molly asked, her voice breaking through the fog.

“What?” Sherlock hummed, looking up to see Molly leaning across the lab bench, a look of concern on her face. “Of course everything is ok. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Your phone pinged, and whatever you read made you get all pale and you had this look of dread on your face. Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing, just my brother letting me know he started proceedings.”

“Oh, right.” Molly nodded.

“Yes. See, absolutely nothing is wrong. Would you mind handing me the ammonium persulfate?”

“There’s no need to be worried.” Molly sighed, handing Sherlock the little bottle of powder. “Your plan is airtight, there’s no way they can deny the facts. And even if they try, I can’t imagine John would let them get away with it. I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated.”

“You’d be surprised the small cracks people can find to wiggle through.” Sherlock mumbled, choosing to ignore the second part of what she said. “But I’m not worried, I know we have a good case.” A case that was just as good as so many Sherlock had seen crash and burn. No, he couldn’t afford to think like that, it was going to work.

“If it’ll make the case stronger,” Molly said leaning in further and dropping her voice to a near whisper, “I can always say I saw them beating you up this last time, and not just the shoving. I don’t think anyone would fault a woman for not physically jumping in to stop three grown men.”

Sherlock stared at her for a few seconds, trying hard to reconcile the girl who carried a kitten folder with the one before him, innocently offering to perjure herself as if she was offering to loan him a pen. “I can’t let you do that.” He said finally. “You’ve already given a sworn statement, it would look suspicious you changing your story now. They’ll also wonder why you didn’t call for help.”

“I could think of something, but it’s your call.” Molly shrugged. “I don’t actually mind lying if it means those three get what’s coming to them. What they did to you is bad enough, but did you know Eddie actually had the nerve to ask me out right in front of Amanda, not even two days after she’d broken up with him?”

That fact was not all that surprising. As disinterested as Sherlock was in the personal relationships of his peers, it did not escape his notice that Eddie Van Coon fashioned himself the campus Casanova, and had been stringing along his Maths tutor, Amanda Richardson, for the better part of last semester.

“Even if I wasn’t with Alec, and Amanda wasn’t my friend, I’d never want to go out with him. He actually said that it doesn’t matter that I’m mousy, because his ‘elephant isn’t afraid of mice.’ Was I meant to be charmed by that?”

“Probably. I weep for my gender.” Sherlock smirked. “And if any girls actually fall for that, I weep for yours.”

“I know, right? But I think you and I got a couple of the only good ones.” Molly giggled. “Anyway, you can see why I really don’t have any qualms about a little white lie to get him and his friends in trouble for something they actually did.”

“Not needed, but… thank you. I appreciate it.” Sherlock did appreciate her. Sure they were friends – after everything, Sherlock had grudgingly accepted he did have friends – but she didn’t need to stick her neck out for him like she was.

 

The rest of the lab passed uneventfully without any more discussion of whether or not Sherlock was worried, or if people’s statements were strong enough, and before he knew it, it was time to pack up and go. Sherlock was just debating whether to stop by Dr. Waller’s office to ask him about some contradictory results, or just head back to the flat to wait for John, when he walked outside to find John sitting against the opposite wall.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Sherlock asked, refusing to give John the satisfaction of seeing his surprise.

“Yeah, but we were just going over the results of the last test. I got a ninety-four, so I think it’s safe for me to skip and just look up what I got wrong.” John said. “Hey Molly, how’s it going?”

“Told you you got a good one.” Molly mumbled, shooting Sherlock a look. “Hey John! It’s going well. I’d stay and chat, but I… um… I’m supposed to be meeting my friend Meena at the library.” She said, and with a wave, hurried off in the opposite direction of the library. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, if she got any more transparent, she’d be see-through.

“You got a good what?” John asked, turning back to Sherlock and fixing him with one of his open honest smiles.

Sherlock felt his stomach give the now all too familiar jolt. “Pardon?”

“Molly just said she told you that you got a good one. A good what?”

“Oh… uh… mass spec experiment. We all got different proteins, and I got an easily identifiable one.”

“Aren’t they all easily identifiable to you?” John teased. “Come on, since we’re both done for the day, you can help order the takeaway.”

“Help order the takeaway? I know you’re not a genius, John, but I would think placing a simple food order would be within your skill set.” Sherlock rolled his eyes again, grinning all the same. “You just want someone else to carry it back to the flat for you.”

“I can’t get anything by you. Let’s go, I’m starving!”

 

~

 

After they picked up their food – which John managed to order flawlessly – they spent the evening in what had become their custom, sitting together on the couch, takeaway containers on the coffee table, and John, annoyedly yelling at Sherlock to stop ‘predicting’ the end of TV shows. There was no talk about the harassment claim being filed, no talk about if the school would take action, or if there would be any push back from Sebastian and the others. There was no talk of what came next; it was out of their hands, so they enjoyed the relative calm before the inevitable storm. In short, it was a near perfect evening. All it was missing was a locked room triple homicide courtesy of New Scotland Yard, but they couldn’t have everything.

And later that night when Sherlock crawled into John’s bed once again, if he lay down a little closer than usual, hugged BuzzBee just a little tighter, neither he nor John thought to make any mention of it. Sherlock felt safe, protected, and so no matter what happened next, win or lose, at least he had that. He laid there for a while and watched as John slept, enjoying the closeness they shared – even if this was the only closeness they’d ever have – until finally sleep pulled him under as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Smarmy trust fund villain from an eighties movie is how I describe Donald Drumpf's sons.
> 
> Our boys are so close to having this ordeal behind them, and then they can finally move on to bigger and _better_ things!
> 
> Now, how about you all leave me some comments and/or corrections, and I'll post another chapter the day after tomorrow (disregard the fact that I'm going to do that anyway)


	13. The Hearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck, and there's just one more hurtle to jump through before John and Sherlock can put the whole ordeal behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't know if I was going to be able to get this chapter out to you today. For some reason the internet wasn't working right on my laptop (super slow or websites would time out), but it worked fine on my phone and tablet. Well, long story short, I took my computer into work with me today, and the work wifi works just fine. So I stayed late at work to post this chapter before leaving for him (I love you guys and this fic that much!)
> 
> Please enjoy, and keep your fingers crossed that wireless works on my computer when I get home (I really don't want to buy a new one)

The weeks following the initiation of ‘Phase Two’ were a whirlwind. John did everything he could think of to keep Sherlock distracted. He even managed to talk Mike into letting Sherlock set up his chemistry equipment on one half of the kitchen table, though he did draw the line at letting Sherlock store ‘samples’ in the refrigerator – Mike could only be so forgiving. Cases, experiments, the morgue, everything, you name it and John did it. Well, he almost did everything, there may have been one or two other things he thought of that he’d like to have done.

In those weeks they managed to solve a string of jewelry store robberies – nobody seemed to notice that a different person with the same Pomeranian was in the store an hour before each robbery – they caught two stalkers, and exonerated a third who was just a tagger in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sherlock also managed to destroy two kettles, the toaster, and spill something that stained one of the kitchen chairs yellow.

Finally, after nearly three weeks of practically radio silence from Mycroft on the topic, a deal was struck. The police report Lestrade drew up was officially on file and the three accused all admitted their guilt. But by agreement of all parties involved, no police action was to be taken. Instead Sebastian Wilkes, Edward Van Coon, and Brian Lukis had to face a full hearing in front of the school’s disciplinary committee.

And so on the night before the hearing was to take place, almost six weeks to the day since the attack, John once again found himself sat on his bed trying to calm an anxious, pacing Sherlock.

“I don’t understand why this is even necessary. They have the police report, the photos, the statements; they have the admissions of guilt. Why do we have to rehash it all? What new could they possibly learn that they don’t know already?”

“It’s just a formality, school policy.” John said, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring, as he watched Sherlock walk back and forth. “The school won’t dole out punishment without a hearing. It’s going to be just fine.”

“But you don’t know that, do you?” Sherlock groaned. “Sebastian might try to pull something, he’ll lie, they’ll all lie, they’ll say they were coerced or something. It could all still go wrong, this is just one more opportunity for it to fall apart and for them to get away with everything.”

“Sherlock, you’re working yourself up into a panic.”

“I’m not panicking, I’m being realistic.” Sherlock snapped.

“The wear pattern on my floor begs to differ. Come here, and sit down.” John ordered, and with a glare, Sherlock flopped down next to him. “Good. Now listen, nothing’s going to go wrong tomorrow. Those little shits won’t dare try to change their story. They know if they backtrack, lie, or try anything, they’re opening themselves up to police prosecution.” Not to mention everything John would do to them.

“They might risk it.” Sherlock whined.

“You know that’s not going to happen.” John chuckled, and Sherlock did know better than that, his nerves were just getting the best of him. “Sebastian and the others may be morons, but their parents and solicitors aren’t. They’d have told them this is the best deal possible for them.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, and you know I’m right. And if you’re still worried, well there’s another benefit of the hearing, the committee gets to hear our side, see all the proof in context.”

“Alright,” Sherlock nodded. “Say Sebastian and the others don’t try to back out, but what if the committee doesn’t do anything? They could acknowledge the wrong doing, but still do nothing. It happens all the time!”

John didn’t know what made him do it – yes he did – but he reached out and pulled Sherlock into his arms as he lay down fully on the bed, laying Sherlock’s head against his chest. “That’s not going to happen either.” He said, rubbing Sherlock’s back in what he hoped were soothing circles. “How would it look if the university, faced with all that damning evidence, gave them a slap on the wrist? And believe me, I will tell every news outlet that will listen – and even those that don’t – if they do.”

“You’d do that?” Sherlock’s voice was muffled as he spoke into John’s chest.

“Absolutely, just try to stop me.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” John chuckled softly, daring to briefly tighten his hold. “It’s getting late, we should probably get some sleep, be fresh and ready for everything tomorrow, or I guess technically today.” He said, moving – reluctantly – to untangle himself.

“Wait.” Sherlock draped an arm across John’s waist, stopping him from slipping out of the bed. “Can we… for just a bit… can you just stay here, like this?” He sounded so small, John’s chest actually ached. And in that moment, John knew there was nothing he could ever refuse the man in his arms. Whatever John could give, he would give to Sherlock; if Sherlock wanted to use his chest as a pillow, if he wanted John’s arms around him, then so be it.

“For as long as you like.” John breathed. “Just close your eyes, go to sleep, I’ll be here.”

For a while they just lay there in the quiet, legs entwined, Sherlock with an arm around John’s waist, and John rubbing a hand slowly up and down Sherlock’s back. John was just starting to think Sherlock had finally dozed off, when Sherlock shifted to look up at him, his chin resting on John’s chest, his eyes bleary.

“John, I wanna tell you something. I needta tell you something.” He said, his speech slightly slurred, clearly on the precipice of sleep.

“Shhhhh. You can tell me in the morning.” John hummed. “Just go to sleep.”

"Hmmm kay” Sherlock sighed with a nod and settled back into John’s chest. Eventually his breathing evened out, and John could tell he really had fallen asleep.

It was like nothing John had ever felt before, this contentment he experience with Sherlock wrapped safe in his arms. Not that with past girlfriends, not with James, not even with Sherlock during that evening in Carrows before everything went wrong. This feeling was new, frightening, and wonderful. And as he watched Sherlock sleep, felt the warmth of his breath through his t-shirt, John knew that he was no longer falling for Sherlock Holmes. Falling still left room for doubt, left room for him the change his mind. There was no more doubt, there was no changing his mind. No, John wasn’t falling any more, he had landed.

“Everything’s going to be ok, Bumble. I promise, everything will be ok.” He whispered, planting a kiss amongst Sherlock’s dark curls, and allowed himself to succumb to sleep. The next day was going to be a long one.

 

*******

 

“You look pretty good in a suit.” Sherlock looked up from buttoning his cuff to look into the mirror and saw John standing behind him, smiling.

 

When he woke that morning, it was to the steady beating of John’s heart, and John’s arms lazily draped around his back. Sherlock blushed just thinking about, thinking about how much he wished he could wake in John’s arms every morning. John didn’t make any mention of what Sherlock had wanted to tell him before they fell asleep, and Sherlock wasn’t going to bring it up again. It was stupid, he was tired and his defenses were down, it would have been a mistake to admit that he… Well, it was moot anyway. They simply got up and went about starting their day.

John insisted Sherlock eat something for breakfast, and Sherlock grudgingly forced down two slices of toast, and a soft boiled egg. Because of the hearing, they had both decided to skip their Friday classes, and instead spent the morning trying – and failing – to relax. In his head, Sherlock went over all the evidence and what he was going to say, and if the low murmuring was any indication, John was doing the same. Mike wished them both luck, and informed them he’d probably be gone when they got back – spending the weekend at his parent’s – and to be sure to text him how it went. A couple of the guys from the teams sent them texts of encouragement throughout the day, and at about two o’clock they started getting ready, each taking turns in the bathroom.

 

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” Sherlock said, turning around and taking in John’s pressed trousers, blue button up, and blazer. “Though I think I still prefer the jeans and jumper look on you.”

“You and me both! I certainly feel more comfortable in jeans and a jumper.” John laughed.

“Well maybe you’d be a bit less uncomfortable if you undid those top buttons… I mean…” Sherlock flushed as John’s grin widened. “I don’t mean like that. I just… you’re only supposed to button the top buttons if you’re wearing a tie.” God, he was an idiot. Now John would think he was flirting with him – and maybe he was – and after last night, after the past six weeks actually…

“It would feel less like I’m being suffocated. But maybe just the very top one, I’m not sure I can pull off the casual undone buttons look quite as well as you do.”

“What do you mean I pull off the look? I’m just wearing a shirt.”

“Please, like you don’t know what you’re doing,” John smirked, stepping just a bit closer, “showing off that long neck of yours, showing just a hint of collarbone. Maddening,” he hummed.

Sherlock’s mouth felt dry, his face felt hot, and his chest felt a frenzy. “John…” he swallowed.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said –”

“No, no. It’s… It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Sherlock mumbled, moving to close the space between him and John, vividly remembering that night on the gym floor, feeling every bit of unspoken tension from the last month and a half, from the last year.

Sherlock could feel John’s hand brush against his cheek, he could feel John’s heart thumbing as he placed his hand on John’s chest, his own heart pounded as if trying to escape his ribs. Their lips were a mere hairsbreadth away when…

_*Ping*_

_*Ping*_

And the moment was broken, lost.

 

_[15:33]   The car is waiting outside. – MH_

_[15:33]   Don’t worry, I’m not in it – MH_

Of course Mycroft chose that exact moment to interrupt. Actually, knowing him, he was probably watching them on one of his little cameras, and did it on purpose. Bastard.

“It’s Mycroft. The car’s here.”

“Yes, right.” John cleared his throat and took a step backwards. Oh Mycroft was definitely a bastard. “Are you ready?”

Sherlock just nodded, looking down at the floor.

“Good. Then let’s go, and in about two and a half hours, this will all be over with.” John smiled, reaching up a hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek, his thumb sweeping across Sherlock’s cheekbone. It was a comfort, a reassurance, but Sherlock’s heart still skipped a beat or two.

 

~

 

The ride from John’s flat to campus was short, and passed in near silence. All too soon it was four o’clock, and Sherlock found himself in one of the university’s meeting rooms. The room was set up like a mini court, in the front, facing the rest of the room, sat the University Disciplinary Committee, made up of seven professors and administrators. There was a small table – the “witness stand” – facing the committee. And finally there were chairs set up as a sort of gallery. Looking around, Sherlock saw that on one side sat Sebastian, Eddie, Brian, and their parents; while on the other sat Malcolm, Alec, Molly, and… his mother. Well, that wasn’t really much of a surprise; she had stopped by to “check in on him” at least once a week – oftentimes more – and called almost daily since she found out what happened.

“Alright, if everyone would please take a seat,” said the chair of the committee, “I think it’s time to get started.”

Just a little longer and then it was finally going to be over. Sherlock took a deep breath and, earning a small squeeze of reassurance, slid his hand into John’s.

 

*******

 

_"Every few nights Sherlock would come back to our room with new cuts and bruises. He never wanted to talk about it, but I’d seen them shove him into walls and trip him in the hallways.”_

_"I tried telling Phillip, our senior resident, when Sherlock got a black eye, but obviously nothing came of it.”_

_~***~_

_"At first I just saw them yelling at Sherlock a lot. We’d be going to or leaving class, and they’d call him all sorts of names; real primary school stuff. But it got worse over time. Twisting his arm behind his back, stomping on his foot or punching him as they were going passed.  I’d always try to get them to stop, but they just laughed it off, ask me why I was wasting my time with ‘a freak’.”_

_"I wish… I just wish I could have been there that night, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad as it was.”_

_~***~_

_"We’d meet about once a week to practice some basic self-defense. He wouldn’t report the harassment, and he wouldn’t tell me who was responsible, so it was really all I could do.”_

_"When I went to his room, he could barely walk, and was having trouble breathing. That’s when I took him to A &E. I had patched him up before, but the state he was in was way beyond a cold compress and some butterfly-stitches.”_

_“It really was a shock seeing him like that. It was almost hard to believe the doctor when he said he was going to be okay, it was just really, really awful.”_

_~***~_

_"Those were taken almost four days after I was attacked. I still couldn’t fully see out of that eye for another few days.”_

_"My left sixth and seventh ribs had been fractured, and they took about five weeks to fully heal.”_

_No, my wrist was only sprained, and my ankle was just swollen.”_

_"I understand I should have spoken up sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t have gotten to this point. But I was worried if I did, it would only make things worse, and I didn’t want to cause trouble. I realize now staying quiet obviously wasn’t going to do anything, that it wasn’t going to stop them.”_

_~***~_

_"Speaking on behalf of Messrs. Lukis, Van Coon, and Wilkes, they want to express their sincerest regret and acknowledge their full responsibility for what happened to Mr. Holmes. They realize their actions were inexcusable, and wish to offer no excuses. They will accept whatever punishment they receive, knowing full well that it was their own actions that brought them here. There is no taking back what they did to Mr. Holmes, and they can only ask for his eventual forgiveness.”_

_~***~_

_"After a careful review of the evidence provided and the statements given here today, and with great consideration, the committee has reached a decision.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! What's going to happen? Am I going to be nice, or am I going to throw a monkey wrench into things? You'll just have to keep reading to find out! >:D
> 
> Anywhoo, lovely comments and/or corrections may or may not inspire me to change what I do in the next chapter, who knows. But don't you think it's worth a shot?


	14. Observations and Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The decision is made, now can John and Sherlock finally move on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet still not working, but I have my computer with me at work and it's a slow day so I'm posting a wee bit earlier for you guys.
> 
> Since the internet is acting up, I'll have to bring a flashdrive with this fic on it to work (I hate lugging my computer with me every day) and post from my work computer for the remaining three chapter. I don't think it will be too much of a problem since there's not much left to go, so I don't think it will interfere with my every other day posting schedule.
> 
> Now, on to the fic: We pick up right were we left off.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“After a careful review of the evidence provided and the statements given here today, and with great consideration, the committee has reached a decision.”_

*******

 

It was over, it was actually over! Suspended from the university for the remainder of the current term and summer term, barred from living on campus and attending or participating in school sponsored functions, put on disciplinary probation for the next three years, mandatory weekly meetings with the office of student conduct, and immediate expulsion following any sort of further behavior misconduct. Personally John would have liked them to be chucked out of the school permanently and had their futures ruined, but the suspension, probation, and official disciplinary reprimand should follow them for a good long while. And most important of all, Sherlock was happy, so John was happy.

 

“I can’t believe after all this time I’m finally getting to meet you, John.” Mrs. Holmes said once they’d all left the meeting room. She was a beautiful woman, sharing her son’s dark curls – though she wore them up in a loose twist on her head, and not haphazard and wild – she had the same sharp, cunning eyes which held a spark of curious excitement, and the same light – near flawless – complexion. “Though I do wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, me too.” John nodded, glancing over at Sherlock who was busy talking with Molly and Alec. “I’m actually kind of surprised we kept missing each other when you’d come to visit Sherlock.”

“Yes, well something tells me he arranged it that way. It’s as if he’s embarrassed by his old mum.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not it, Mrs. Holmes.” Actually, John was almost positive that it was just that. Not that Sherlock had anything to be embarrassed of, his mum was lovely.

“You’re too kind. And please, call me Lydia.”

“I don’t think I can do that.” John laughed. “You’re Sherlock’s mum, it seems a bit disrespectful.”

“And a gentleman too,” Mrs. Holmes smiled. “I’m so lucky Sherlock found you.”

“Oh it’s nothing, really.”

“No, I’m absolutely serious.” Mrs. Holmes said, taking hold of both of John’s hands; her eyes getting misty as she spoke. “I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done for my Sherlock. And I don’t even mean just giving him a safe place to stay after… everything. I mean everything you did before, teaching him how to defend himself, helping him and looking out for him on his silly adventures, for being there for him, for being his friend.”

As if there was ever any question that John would be there for Sherlock. “It was easy.”

“Knowing you were looking out for him… Well, it was the only thing that kept me from going absolutely monstrous when I heard what those little bastards had done to my boy. Richard, Sherlock’s father, he had to hold me back, or else I would have… Perhaps it’s better I not say.”

Mrs. Holmes’s smile was damn near wicked, and suddenly John was very glad Sebastian, Brian, and Eddie had made a hasty exit after the hearing. Something told him, that you did not want to be the target of Lydia Holmes going monstrous. Actually no, John couldn’t think of three finer candidates for whatever maternal retribution Mrs. Holmes could enact.

“I’m glad I could help.” John chuckled. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would, and that’s why I’m so thankful for you.” Mrs. Holmes said softly, pulling John into a tight hug before releasing him and wiping her eyes. “Now I want you to promise to keep taking good care of my boy.” She smiled. “What you two have is special, it doesn’t just happen every day.”

“What?” John stuttered, quickly looking up to check that Sherlock was still talking to the others, and not listening in to his and Mrs. Holmes’s conversation.

“Oh don’t act so surprised.” She laughed “I’m Sherlock’s mother, you don’t think I know my own son? I hear the way he talks about you. I see the way he blushes and his eyes light up when your name comes up. Over Christmas he was smiling at his phone, and texting _someone_ almost none stop. And don’t think you’re any different, this entire conversation you’ve been positively pink!”

“I am? I do?” John mumbled.

Mrs. Holmes just looked at John, and he had been on the receiving end of enough Holmes looks to know exactly what it meant, he was being an idiot. “The way you two look at each other…” She sighed. “Reminds me of Richard and me when we first met. We couldn’t get enough of each other, still can’t as a matter of fact. And you and Sherlock are just like that; don’t think I didn’t see you two holding hands the entire time in there.”

“You… you saw that?” John was being an idiot again.

“I was sitting right behind you, dear. And where do you think my boys learned it all, to not just see but to ‘observe’?”

“So it’s that obvious? All of it I mean, not just that we were… that I held his hand.”

Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes. “Blindingly.” She laughed. “So back to my original request, you’ll promise to take care of him?”

John couldn’t help thinking back to the night before, holding Sherlock in his arms, rubbing his back as he fell asleep; waking up to find he was still holding him. He thought back to earlier when they were getting ready, before Mycroft’s text interrupted them. “I’ll try,” he blushed, “for as long as he’ll let me.”

“Should I be worried by how long the two you have been conversing?” John nearly jumped out of his skin, he hadn’t even seen Molly and Alec leave or Sherlock walk up to them. Please god, don’t let him have heard what they were saying.

“Not at all, darling.” Mrs. Holmes beamed, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling her son to her side. “John was just telling me all about his plans for his summer at Bart’s.”

John wasn’t even going to ask her how she knew that, she was Sherlock’s mum after all, that family had ways of knowing things he would never understand.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me the truth.” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes at his mother for a few moments as if trying to suss out what she was hiding.

“Would I lie to my own child?” Mrs. Holmes gasped, feigning shock.

“Absolutely. John, what was she saying about me?”

“Nothing. She was just saying it was nice to meet me, and thanked me for being around to support you.” It was technically true. “And then we did start talking about my Bart’s program.” Alright, that wasn’t true.

“Either you’re telling the truth, or you’re becoming a better liar.”

“He always was a suspicious child.” Mrs. Holmes chuckled.

“Now that I can believe.”

“Alright, if you two are done having your little fun at my expense,” Sherlock scowled, “I’d very much like to go. I want to put this whole fiasco behind me.”

“God yeah. Let’s get out of here.” John said, looking at his watch. “I know it’s a bit early, but I haven’t had anything since breakfast, and I’m absolutely starving. I say we go out to dinner, celebrate this thing finally being over.”

“What is it with you and eating, John?”

“I know, it’s almost like I enjoy staying alive. Weird.” John laughed. “Come on, it’ll be my treat. Plus we’re dressed all fancy like, might as well make the most of it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John caught the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess I could stand to eat again today.”

“Excellent! Mrs. Holmes,” John said, turning to Sherlock’s mum who was watching the exchange with a wry smile, “would you care to join? It’ll still be my treat.”

“Oh thank you dear, but that’s alright, you boys go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. I should probably let Richard know how everything went anyway. Silly man’s probably going spare not knowing, and he’ll insist on knowing every little detail.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Holmes men!”

“Well precision is important.” Sherlock pouted.

“I know darling, it is.” Mrs. Holmes said patting Sherlock’s cheek. “Now you boys go and enjoy your little celebration. And Sherlock, I expect you to come home for the long weekend next week. You did miss Easter after all.”

“Yes Mummy.” Sherlock grumbled.

“I have such a good son.” Mrs. Holmes sighed. “And John, you are more than welcome to come for the weekend too. I’m sure Richard would like to meet you, and I know I’d love to see you again.”

“Oh… um… ok, yeah. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Please do dear.”

A long weekend away with Sherlock... at Sherlock’s house... with Sherlock’s parents. That could be… something.

“So,” John said, turning back to Sherlock after waving goodbye to Mrs. Holmes, “any idea where you’d like to go?”

“Actually yes, I think I know just the place.” Sherlock grinned. “The owner owes me a favor.”

 

~

               

‘Just the place’ turned out to be a little Italian restaurant about midway between campus and John’s flat, and the owner, Angelo, absolutely adored Sherlock. Angelo practically made camp at their table for a full five minutes, recounting how Sherlock had caught the vandals who had been defacing the restaurant and driving away customers. After he finished singing every one of Sherlock’s praises, he then moved on to gushing over John, so pleased to be meeting ‘ _The_ John’, Sherlock’s true friend and champion. To be honest, John was a bit embarrassed by the admiration, he just did what any decent human being would have done – should have done. But, it was nice to see that there were other people out there who recognized and saw Sherlock for the wonder he was.

They spent the next two hours, sitting, talking, arguing, and people watching. Long after the food had come and gone, they stayed, lost in a world that was comprised of just the two of them. John couldn’t help it, everything was so easy with Sherlock, the comfortable teasing and banter, it just felt right. John had to wonder; there was no denying Sherlock returned at least some of his feelings – he said as much when he was off his nut after the hospital – and the attraction was certainly there – in spades – but maybe Mrs. Holmes was right. Maybe Sherlock did feel something more serious for him; maybe what they had really was special. It certainly felt special.

 

*******

 

“You know, when I said I wanted to take you out to dinner and it’d be my treat, I had intended on actually paying for dinner.” John said, toeing off his shoes and collapsing on to the couch next to Sherlock.

“Well how was I supposed to know Angelo was going to insist everything be on the house?” Of course, Sherlock knew Angelo was going to do exactly that. He hadn’t paid to eat there in over a year. “And you paid the tip, so I think that counts.”

“As long as you don’t think I’m a cheapskate, and you enjoyed your celebratory dinner, I guess I’m happy.”

Dinner had been… unreal. There was no other way of describing it. Yes he and John had shared countless meals together – and spent nearly all their time together, including sharing a bed on occasion – but something about being there at Angelo’s had felt different. Maybe it was the relief of putting the hearing and Wilkes behind them, or because they were dressed nicely, or because of the way the light of the candle Angelo insisted on lighting played across John’s face. Or maybe it was because over the course of the dinner, they moved progressively closer and closer, so by the end of the meal they had met in the corner of the L-bench. Whatever the reason, Sherlock knew – or at least he hoped he did – that this thing between John and him seemed to have crossed over from ‘just friends who may have gotten each other off once’ to something far more significant. It terrified him to no end.

“You’re not, and I did.”

“Good.” John smiled, his eyes closed.

“I always enjoy myself when I’m with you.” Sherlock breathed, before abruptly clamping his mouth shut and looking down at his knees. He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

John opened his eyes, his smile broadening. “I always enjoy myself when I’m with you, too.” He said softly, and Sherlock’s heart stuttered in his chest. Oh yes, whatever this was, it was definitively more significant than ‘just friends.’

That was it, he had to know, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to ask, he just had to ask, he’d ask and then he’d know. And so, screwing up every last ounce of his courage, Sherlock turned to face John properly. “John,” he said hesitantly, “what was that? What was tonight?”

“What do you mean?” John frowned. “That was me taking you to dinner to celebrate today’s win.”

“Yes I know, but… But was that all it was?” Please let him have read this right.

“Did you… do you want it to mean something else?” John sounded nervous.

“Maybe.”

“Like what?”

Sherlock watched as John licked his lips, shifting just a bit closer. “John…” he breathed.

“Hmmm?” John hummed, his face inching ever closer. Sherlock could feel the heat of John’s thigh against his; he could smell the scent of John’s antiperspirant. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, he wanted, no, he needed more.

“Would it… would it be alright if I… can I kiss you again?”

Say yes. Please god, say yes!

“Sherlock” John murmured, “I’m pretty sure we’re well past the point that you even need to ask.”  And wrapping a hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, he closed that final bit of distance separating them.

At first the kiss was soft, almost shy. And oh god, kissing John was just as fantastic as Sherlock as remembered. No. No, it was infinitely better than he remembered. John was so gentle, his lips so soft as they brushed and pressed against Sherlock’s; the amount pressure just right that Sherlock found his mind slowing, and his focus concentrating on their connection. So lost was he in the feel of John’s lips, that Sherlock actually forgot to kiss back, and just allowed John to part his lips, sucking and kissing each one in turn. And suddenly there was John’s tongue gliding along his bottom lip, and dipping into his mouth to deepen the kiss. Just like that, Sherlock’s brain came rushing back online, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp, a moan, and a whimper – not that he would admit to ever making such a sound later.

John’s hand immediately dropped from Sherlock’s neck and he pulled away. “Too much?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

The loss of John’s hands and his lips was like another shock to the system, Sherlock wanted – needed – them back.

“Not enough.” He groaned, and surged forward, recapturing John’s lips and kissing him back in full force.

 

Sherlock didn’t know how much time had passed, a minute? Ten? Three hours? Time had lost all meaning. All that mattered was he was lying against the arm of the couch, John between his legs, John’s hand on his thigh, the other resting on the couch by his head, and John’s mouth on his. His own hands didn’t seem to know where to go; wanting to touch all of John simultaneously, they went from clutching John’s shirt one moment, to burying themselves in John’s hair the next. Six weeks, why had he gone six whole weeks without kissing John? How had he managed to go six weeks without wrapping himself around John, without feeling John’s body moving and sliding against his? Even through all the – hateful – layers of their clothing, Sherlock could feel John’s obvious desire for him, a desire that not only matched his own, but was growing with every passing second. Why had they denied themselves this?

“Oh my god.” He gasped as John tore his lips away and began kissing up his neck to nip at his ear.

“You have no idea.” John mumbled, kissing along Sherlock’s jaw and back to his lips. “No idea.”

“Yes I – do – _oh god_ – yes I do.” Sherlock breathed between kisses. His wires were fried and he was desperate for John, desperate for more.

Hooking a leg over John’s hip, and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, Sherlock pulled John impossibly closer. This was it, there was no slowing down, and there was no going back. But he didn’t want to slow down; he didn’t want to go back. He was entangled with everything he could ever want, everything he scarcely even dared dream he could have again was wrapped around him, on top of him, kissing him, touching him, _wanting_ him. He was ready, he was ready to surrender himself to… to…

“ _Ughhhhaa John,”_ he groaned as John thrust against him again. “Oh John – I want –”

But Sherlock never got to finish his begging, wanton request, as his lust addled train of thought came to a screeching halt at the sound of the flat’s door opening and heavy footfall in the hallway.

“So guess what idiot got halfway home before realizing he forgot his computer on his desk?”

_Un-fucking-believable_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHA! COCK-BLOCKED AGAIN! I really am the worst, I'm sorry. But hey, at least they got to kiss again, and Mummy Holmes approves. That's something, right?
> 
> I'll tell you what, why don't you all leave me some comments and/or corrections telling me just how much I'm the worst.


	15. One Hundred Percent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With one obstacle and interruption after another, something seems intent to be keeping John and Sherlock apart. But what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I need a new router for my internet (getting it Tuesday), but I seem to have a bit of connection right now, so I'm posting this as fast as I can.
> 
> So enjoy this batch of super special, artisanal dino nuggets.

Mike was a good flat mate and a great friend, John had to keep telling himself that because he wanted nothing more than to strangle Mike with his bare hands. It wasn’t Mike’s fault, though. Really, how was he to know John was moments away from getting a leg over, moments from finally getting together with Sherlock? At least, he thought they were about to get together, and not just… Still, with only seconds to sort themselves out, John had to practically launch himself off of Sherlock at the sound of the flat door opening, so he felt a little justified in wanting to at least maim the man. When Mike sat down and decided to have a chat, John felt completely justified.

“So the pricks have been suspended, and are on probation. You must be thrilled.” Mike said, looking between John and Sherlock, seemingly oblivious to what he had just walked in on. Becca at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“I’m just glad it’s over.”  John didn’t dare risk looking at Sherlock for fear of seeing his kiss swollen lips, his clothes in a state of disarray, and his hair a total disaster. What made it all worse was he knew he looked very much the same.

“I bet! How long have you two been putting it all together, a month?”

“Six weeks.” Sherlock said, his voice coming out clipped. John knew that tone, he was annoyed. Frankly, John couldn’t blame him. “Though the harassment when on for far longer.”

“Shit, yeah.” Mike sighed. “Well now you can breathe easier.”

“Yes.”

“So you guys going to do anything to celebrate? We should do something next week when I get back.”

“I… uh… we went out to dinner.” John mumbled. “Then we, um, yeah.”

“Well, when I get back –”

“But in order to get back,” Becca said jumping in, “we have to actually go away. We don’t want to be too late getting to your parent’s place.” Bless her, bless everything she touches, and bless everything she does in life. John could have honestly hugged her in that moment.

“Uuughh, you’re right.” Mike groaned, “Mum’s probably getting ready to send out a search helicopter as we speak.”

“Exactly, and we can’t have that.” Becca smiled. “We’ll just be getting out of your hair. You two enjoy the rest of your weekend.” She added with a wink in the direction of the couch. John’s face felt hot, and suddenly he wanted to hug her less.

“Yeah, see you guys Sunday. We’ll definitely do something next week.” Mike called from the hall just before the door shut, and then they were alone.

“So…” John said after a few silent minutes of just sitting there not looking at each other.

“Yes.” Sherlock hummed. “They’re not going to make it to the Stamford’s until close to eleven.”

“That’s not what I…”

And just like that, the moment was lost, Sherlock wouldn’t even look at him. Whatever had been about to happen between them was gone for good. Sherlock being attacked right after the evening in the gym, the countless half moments started and stopped throughout the past six weeks, Mycroft’s text interrupting them that afternoon, and now Mike forgetting his computer. Maybe the universe didn’t want John to be with Sherlock. Maybe all they would ever get was that one amazing night, and this one breathless snog. Maybe all they were meant to have was friendship. Fuck.

“I… I think I’m going to go take a shower.” John muttered, getting off the couch. The coldest shower in human history, he thought as he surreptitiously adjusted himself in his trousers. “Goodnight.”

Seriously, fuck.

 

*******

 

As Mike slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced over to see Becca staring at him with a look of amusement on her face.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You know what.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked. What’s so funny?”

“Seriously?” Becca laughed. “Why did you stop to talk to them? We should have grabbed your computer and gotten out of there!”

“Well I wanted to know how the hearing went. John texted me, but I wanted specifics. That was as good a time as any.” Mike shrugged. They were already late, so a few more minutes wouldn’t have hurt anyone. Mike didn’t understand why Becca would even care.

“That was not as good a time as any! You didn’t think they looked a bit busy, maybe wanted privacy, like they were getting ready to…” She trailed off as her eyebrows rose.

“Getting ready to what?” Mike frowned. They didn’t’ seem all that busy, they were just sitting on the couch. Unless…

“Wait, you don’t mean… they weren’t… sex?!?”

Becca was in near hysterics at that point. “Oh my god, yes!” She laughed, catching her breath. “If we had been two minutes later, I’m pretty sure we would have walked in on two very naked, _very_ occupied men.”

“No. No, John and I have a system. If one of use is going to have a guest, we put a pair of Wellies by the door as a warning. The Wellies weren’t there.”

“That’s because they thought you were going to be away for the weekend, plus maybe John didn’t know he was going to be getting lucky. I hardly think he’d stop to put out the signal if he and Sherlock were finally going to –”

“You seriously think they were about to have sex?”

“Oh honey,” Becca sighed, shaking her head. “Did you not see them? John’s shirt was buttoned wrong, Sherlock had stubble burn all up his neck. Not to mention their hair! Only someone else’s hands tangled in it can cause that kind of chaos.”

“Well damn.”

“You’re the one who says they’ve been dancing around each other all year. And Sherlock’s been sleeping in John’s bed. This honestly couldn’t have been that big of a shock.”

“It’s not. Not really, I mean.” Mike said, trying to come to terms with the fact he had just cock-blocked John and Sherlock. Should he go back and apologize? Send a text? No, no, that would just make it worse. “It’s obvious they’re both  mad for each other, but John’s been so adamant that nothing would ever happen since ‘Sherlock wasn’t interested in things like that.’ I wasn’t sure they’d ever get their heads out of their own arses.”

“Well it appears they have.” Becca grinned. “Unresolved feelings have a tendency to make themselves known after a while, pressure builds up, things boil over.”

“It’s about damn time!” Mike laughed. “Oh, wait. Shit!”

“What? What is it?”

“If they’re getting together now, that means Jason won the pool! I had them for the end of term. They couldn’t have held on for one more month.”

“Your friends who have been pining, head over heels for each other, are finally happy, isn’t that good enough for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’d be better if I had the hundred and fifty quid to go along with hit.” Mike grumbled. “And John’s probably going to want to live with Sherlock next year, so it looks like I’m out one flat mate.” His friends’ happiness was sure costing him a lot.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Becca hummed. “I guess you’ll just have to move in with me.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded.  “We’ve been together nearly two and half years, you’re at mine most of the time anyway, might as well officially live together.”

Well ok then, it looked like John and Sherlock becoming an item was going to be beneficial to him after all. Love sure was grand.

 

*******

 

Sherlock stood outside John’s door, his heart pounding. John’s shower had ended a good fifteen minutes earlier, and he hadn’t come back out to the sitting room even though it was a Friday night and still relatively early. The light was on, and he could hear the pages of a book being turned. John was awake, sitting, laying, existing, on just the other side of the cheap plywood door. His hand hesitated as it hovered over the doorknob. They had gotten so close, and he wasn’t going to let fear take it all away from him, from them. He couldn’t go back to being ‘just friends’, not after tonight, so taking a deep breath, Sherlock pushed the door open.

“Sherlock.” John said quietly, looking up at him as he entered to room. John was sat on his bed in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, his back against the headboard, a book resting against his bent knees. Sherlock had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Without saying a word, Sherlock stripped down to his vest and pants, and crawled onto the bed and settled himself in John’s lap, his back against John’s knees. It was now or never, he told himself, and took John’s face in his hands. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

“You said I don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He whispered, his lips millimeters from John’s.

“Fuck the universe.” John breathed. “No, no you don’t.” And then John’s arms came up to wrap around Sherlock’s back and those last few millimeters were demolished.

This kiss, this kiss was… dear Jesus, how had he almost let nerves stop him from pursuing this? Sherlock would willingly spend the rest of his life kissing John, and being kissed by John. He let out a long, drawn out moan; a lifetime of John’s lips and tongue exploring his mouth didn’t seem like enough, it would never be enough. One hundred years, one hundred and twenty-five, one hundred and fifty years could pass, and he’d still never tire of John Watson’s mouth, of John Watson’s arms holding him, of John Watson’s body pressed against his, of John Watson.

It wasn’t long before the kisses turned urgent, and the sounds of moans and panting filled the small room. Sherlock’s hands were fisted in the cotton of John’s t-shirt, and John’s were tangled in Sherlock’s curls. Every movement, every gentle tug to his follicles was like a shot of electricity through Sherlock’s body, he was on fire, every nerve was firing at once, screaming out for John.

“Please – _oh god_ – please, John.” Sherlock whimpered, rolling his hips.

“ _Ngh_ – _oh Christ!_ ” John thrust up, grinding his hard length against a certain part of Sherlock’s anatomy that was calling out for attention. “What – what do you want? – Tell me – tell me what you want.” He moaned.

“You… I want you in – _uhha_ – inside me. I want you to open – open me up – I want to feel you move – I want to feel you move inside me – Oh god, John I want you.”

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ” John groaned and rolled them so it was Sherlock against the headboard with his legs around John’s hips. “I want- _oh Sherlock_ – I want that too. I want that – I want you so badly.”

“So please – please, John – please have it – have me.” Sherlock panted, tightening his legs and capturing John’s mouth in desperate kiss after desperate kiss. “Please – oh god, please!” He knew he was begging; he was begging and he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting rid of the layers separating himself from John, and feeling every inch of John’s body against him.

“Are you – are you sure?” John asked against Sherlock’s mouth.

“Never been – never been more sure – of anything.” The desire and desperation he felt was like nothing he had ever experienced. But John – Oh god, John – John changed all that. John changed everything, changed _him,_ on a fundamental level

“Because if we – if we do this again – there’s – there’s no going back.”

They were already well past the point of no return. “I don’t want to go back.” Sherlock mumbled against the skin of John’s jaw. “I can’t go back.” John hadn’t shaved and the scrap of his stubble against Sherlock’s mouth was like ecstasy.

“ _Uhha Sherlock_ – I’m – I’m serious.” John groaned and pushed himself off of Sherlock as far as the small circle of Sherlock’s arms and legs would allow. “Sherlock, look at me. I can’t do this if this is a onetime thing, or if you want something casual. I can’t do casual. I can’t be casual, not with you. If we do this, it has to be one hundred percent. I’m in this one hundred percent. With you, it’s one hundred percent, I'm yours one hundred percent. I can’t give any less.”

For the first time in his nineteen years of life, Sherlock’s words completely left him. He was breathless and utterly speechless. Never had anyone ever wanted him one hundred percent, never had anyone cared enough to want even a fraction of that. But John did. As he stared up at John, into his deep blue eyes, eyes that were wide, full of trepidation, hope, and most of all, honesty, Sherlock knew he was telling the truth. John wanted him one hundred percent. Dear god, John actually wanted him one hundred percent.

Unable to take the distance – as small as it was – anymore, Sherlock pulled John back to him, kissing him with such force that he saw stars. He poured everything into that kiss, every want, every feeling, everything he could not say in words.

“I’m in one hundred percent, too.” He whispered when they came up for air. It should frighten him, wanting to give himself over completely to another human being, to care for and be cared for by someone else, but it didn’t. It was John, and John was… everything.

“You are?” John asked, he sounded nervous, he sounded unsure. How could he be unsure? How could he not know how much Sherlock wanted him, how much he…

“Yes – _uha_ – yes.” He nodded, thrusting his hips up to meet John’s, desperate for the contact, desperate for the friction. “I’ve wanted – _ah_ – I’ve wanted this for – _aha_ – for a long time – for so long. Please, John please let me have this. Let us have this.”

“How long?” John asked, nuzzling the side of Sherlock’s neck. “I want to know, I need to know, how long could we have had this?”

“Since the day you taught me how to escape a chokehold,” Sherlock breathed. “The day of our first case together. Your chest was flush against my back – _oh my god, John_ – your arms were around me, I could feel your breath against my neck. I couldn’t – _ah_ – I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting you, wanting this. I want this – with you. I want you.”

“I want you too. Oh my god, I want you too.”

“So have me. Take me.” Sherlock whispered, and recapturing John's lips, he slid his hands down the back of John’s pants. “I’ve been yours for quite a while now.”

“God yes. Mine.”

 

What few articles of clothing remained were quickly shed, and then… oh god and then it was skin. No separation, no barriers, just skin. Sherlock practically cried as he felt John’s warm, soft skin slide against his, he melted into each of John’s touches. Sherlock wasn’t exactly what you would have called inexperienced; hell, he wasn’t even inexperienced with John, but this? This was different, this was… there were no words to describe what this was.

It was slow, so achingly slow. John took his time preparing Sherlock, pausing as each finger entered him, kissing away Sherlock’s whimpers, kissing away his gasps and cries as he brushed that little bundle of nerves buried deep inside Sherlock. John’s focus was entirely on Sherlock, he was making it all about Sherlock, Sherlock’s wants, Sherlock’s pleasures. Sherlock couldn’t wrap his head around what he did to deserve someone like John, to have won the care and affection of someone as wonderful, someone as amazing, someone as perfect at John. He was so glad he’d discovered what a pathetic user Victor was before they had gotten to this point. Victor who accepted Mycroft’s bribe, and dropped Sherlock when the next naïve target came along. Getting to experience _this_ with John – someone who wanted him one hundred percent – for the first time, it meant something now. Sherlock was free to let go, open himself completely to another person, to even be vulnerable, because he knew there was someone there to catch him, hold him. John would never hurt him. John would never take advantage. John would never hurt him.

“Now – _ugh_ – I’m ready…  John, I’m ready now.” Sherlock gasped as John slowly pulled his fingers out. Already he felt hollow, empty; already he ached to be filled.

“Are you sure? I’ve never… not with a man. I want this, but I don’t know how good I’ll be. I want this to be good for you. This has to be good for you. We can just keep using hands if you want… or, or mouths.”

“You never? Not even with…”

“No, that never got much past kissing. You’re – you’re my first.”

“You’re my first too – my first doing this – I’m sure – Please, I’m ready – Please don’t stop – I want this – I want you.” Sherlock said, kissing John soundly over and over again, and pressing a little foil packet into his hand.

“Oh god yes. I can’t – I can’t say no to you.” John breathed, and quickly prepared himself.

Sherlock bit his lip as John slowly pushed into him. He was far bigger than three fingers, and Sherlock could feel himself stretch around John’s glans.

“Are you alright?” John asked, halting just inside Sherlock’s entrance

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded. “Keep… keep going.” John would never hurt him. John would never hurt him.

As John slid in inch by inch, the pain slowly gave way to pressure, until he was fully seated and Sherlock finally let out the breath he’d been holding. In theory he knew what to expect, and he had experimented a few times by himself, but no amount of theory or experimentation could have prepared him for the real thing. He was full, completely full. It was… strange, to have his body breached by another person, to feel the heat of another person inside him. It felt… it felt amazing. John – _his_ John – was inside him and it felt amazing.

“Are you ok?” John asked again, running his nose along Sherlock’s cheek.

“More – more than.” Sherlock panted. “Just don’t – just don’t move. I want to feel you – just you.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” John mumbled, resting his forehead against Sherlock, brushing their lips together. “When you’re ready. When you’re ready.”

They laid there for a while, kissing slowly, John buried deep, Sherlock running his hands along John’s back, growing used to the fullness – the amazing, heart stopping fullness.

“Ok,” Sherlock breathed after god knew how long, and began to slowly roll his hips. “Ok, you – you can move.”

As with everything that night, it started off slow. John was gentle, careful, not even pulling back an inch before sinking back in.

“You feel – _oh Christ, Sherlock_ – you feel – _oh god_ – this is amazing.”

“So do – _uhha_ – so do you.” Sherlock moaned. “You can – mo – more.” He canted his hips, trying to take John in deeper.

Slowly the pace picked up, John pulling out further and further with every thrust, until finally…

“ _OH MY GOD!_ ” Sherlock cried as John hit his prostate dead on. His vision was alight with stars. Pleasure flowed through his veins, reaching every part of him. Better than fingers. So much better than fingers. “ _OH JOHN! OH GOD!_ Oh God, do that again!”

“Knew… knew I’d find it eventually.” John chuckled, out of breath.

“Good, now find it again. And don’t – _oh god_ – don’t stop.”

Sherlock didn’t know how it could get any better, but then John began thrusting in earnest, hitting his prostate over and over, and everything Sherlock thought he knew about sex went out the window. With every thrust, Sherlock lifted his hips to meet John’s, and the tight heat coiling in his abdomen grew. The sounds of their moaning filled John’s room as they moved together, their bodies rocking together, kissing and panting into each other’s mouths for what could have been hours. Everything was a haze, the world was a haze; only the feel of John’s sweat slicked skin sliding against his, the feel of John sinking into him over and over, was in sharp focus. The rest of the world may have not even been there anymore, all that mattered was he and John, right there, together; unbelievably, inexplicably together.

“Gorgeous… So gorgeous… So – _ugggh Sherlock –_ so fucking gorgeous.” John said, mouthing at Sherlock’s neck. “Do you have any idea, any idea…”

“Yes John – _oh god YES!_ ” Sherlock groaned. “You – _awwah –_ you – I lov – _uhha –_ I lov – _Ohhhhh  oh oh oh my GOD!_ – Oh my god, John I’m close! I’m going to, I’m going to…”

“Let go – _oh fuck –_ Let go. I’ve got you. I'm here, I’ve got you, gorgeous. You can let go.”

Sherlock felt John wrap one arm tighter around his waist and begin guiding his body as the thrusts became harder, began going deeper, pressing Sherlock deeper against the bed. John’s other hand wrapped around Sherlock’s hard, aching length, pulling him in time with his thrusts. And oh my god, that was all it took, within seconds Sherlock’s body bowed, and his orgasm took him. His mind was blank. He was calling out, but he had no clue what he said. His body was on autopilot, continuing to buck his hips to meet John, fueled by the euphoria only John could provide. He was only dimly aware of John’s thrusts becoming erratic, of John’s own climactic cries as he went stiff above him, and John’s release filling the thin latex layer separating them.

Coming back to himself only long enough to snake his arms around John’s shoulders and bury his hands in John’s hair, Sherlock pulled John into a clumsy kiss, and together they rode out the aftershocks of their coupling.

John didn’t hurt him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SINGS 'AT LAST' BY ETTA JAMES*
> 
> So..... does that make up for all the angst and cock-blocking I put these dummies through? 
> 
> And now I can say that the last chapter and epilogue is nothing but fluff, fluff, and more fluff!! Or maybe I'll make them come down, realize they don't like each other like that, and never want to see each other again.... Nah, it's fluff.
> 
> Well, I'm sure you know the drill by now, I love comments and/or corrections like a mother loves her children.


	16. You Make Me Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally free of worries and fears, John and Sherlock can be open and honest with each other. And just maybe, they can have what they've always wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! Pure, unapologetic, two idiots in love, afterglow and morning after fluff!! I even added about 600 more words of fluff (and a dash of smut) while editing today!
> 
> Would this make these (spiced?) dino marshmallows as opposed to dino nuggets?

It took several long, wonderful minutes for John to come down, and for his senses to return. If he hadn’t know better he would have thought he were dreaming, but he knew his mind could never come up with something as astonishing as what had just happened. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, and not just because it was his first time engaging in ‘full sex’ with another man. John had always cared about his previous partners – a grand total of three to be exact – but this was the first time he shared a deeper connection with a partner, a meaningful connection. This was the first time he didn’t just like his partner, he wasn’t just attracted to him; with Sherlock he was with a partner who meant the world to him, with Sherlock he was with a partner who he was… And then the things Sherlock had said, the things they’d both said. It was a dream. It was better than a dream.

Kissing up Sherlock’s long, pale, perfect neck, and along his jaw, John eventually reached those soft, addictive lips again, and taking care not to overstimulate Sherlock’s sensitive body, he pulled out, swallowing Sherlock’s whimper with slow, gentle kisses. He’d be an old man before he grew tired of kissing those lips, and maybe not even then. John’s heart fluttered at the idea of being able to kiss Sherlock as an old man; that years, decades, down the road, he’d still be the one to have Sherlock Holmes by his side, he’d to be the one to kiss, the one to hold the mad, brilliant, idiot of a man. Probably best not to get ahead of himself, but it was a vision of a future he very much liked.

“Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

“Mmmm.” Sherlock hummed, his eyes still closed from the kisses.

“I’m just going to get something to clean us up with.”

“Mmmm.”

Not bothering to grab his pants – nobody else was in the flat – John padded into the bathroom and ran a clean flannel under the warm water. Giving himself a quick once over, John then crawled back onto the bed, and gently ran the cloth along Sherlock’s chest and abdomen. Sherlock didn’t say a word, just watched the entire time, his eyes soft, his body pliant, moaning just slightly as John worked him clean.

“John?” he said finally, turning on his side once John had finished and settled back in bed, pulling the covers over them.

“Yeah?”

“That was… spectacular.”

John leaned forward to brush his lips against Sherlock’s, feeling them both shiver at the touch. “Yeah.” He smiled.

“Did you… Did you mean it? Are you really in this one hundred percent? You weren’t just saying that? We’re a couple now, we’re together? Really together?” Sherlock asked, nervously looking down at where he held one of John’s hands in both of his, their fingers loosely intertwined.

“We are, and I am.” John said, and with his free hand cupped the back of Sherlock’s head, kissing him slowly and more soundly than before. “I am totally and completely, one hundred percent yours. I’d say I’m one hundred and fifty or two hundred percent, but I know how you feel about mathematical impossibilities.”

“I think, just this once, and just for you, I can make an exception.”

“Well in that case,” John grinned, sliding his hand down Sherlock’s back to pull him in closer. Oh yes, that was better, he needed Sherlock’s warm body closer, Sherlock could never been too close, “count me in for one thousand percent!”

“One thousand?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the sides of his mouth quirked up all the same. “John, there’s no need to be ridiculous.”

“What can I say, you make me ridiculous.”

“Whoa! Don’t blame that on me!” Sherlock protested. “You’ve been patently ridiculous since the moment I met you,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah? And how do you know it wasn’t meeting you that triggered me to become ridiculous? Maybe I was a normal, run-of-the-mill, boring, unexciting student, and then ‘BOOM’ I met you, and I am what you see before you today.”

“There you go being ridiculous again,” Sherlock hummed, lifting his head to capture John’s lips, and began peppering John’s mouth and face with kisses, “because there is nothing – and I mean nothing – boring – or run-of-the-mill – about you, John Watson. – You are the very opposite – of boring – and unexciting.”

John felt himself blush, which given the circumstances was actually a bit ridiculous. “Oh Sherlock Holmes, you really know how to charm a bloke.” He laughed, stopping Sherlock and pulling him into a proper kiss.

“Only for you, John. Only for you.” Sherlock sighed.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad it was you. I’m glad you were my first.”

“Me too.” Sherlock hummed, snuggling closer. Oh god, he was a perfect fit. “I’m glad you were my first too. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to… I’m glad I got to experience this with you.”

John felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt Sherlock’s words enter his chest and settle around his heart. “Oh Bumble,” he murmured, and closed the distance between their lips once again.

 

They lay together for a while, legs tangled together, hands running along backs and sides, fingers sliding across cheeks and into hair, trading the occasional word, but mostly enjoying slow, drawn out kisses. It was perfect, absolutely, utterly, unbelievably perfect. John was sure, this was what true happiness had to feel like.

“You know,” Sherlock said when the eventually broke apart, “if there was one good thing about this whole ordeal, it’s that I got you out of it.”

“What you do you mean, ‘you got me’?” John asked confused. “I mean, you do have me, but…”

“Well if I hadn’t been targeted, you never would have had a reason to stop me that evening at the library. We never would have had the self-defense lessons, we never would have had the chance to get to know each other, we… we wouldn’t have this.” Sherlock explained. “It’s worth it you know? This, with you. It’s worth the harassment, all the cuts and bruises, it’s worth the broken ribs.”

Ridiculous man, completely perfect ridiculous man, John thought, his eyes getting embarrassingly damp. “You idiot,” he laughed thickly, shifting so that he lay half on top of Sherlock, “I would have found a way to meet you.”

“Would you?”

“No doubt. Destiny and Fate wanted us to meet, remember? After all, I had noticed you before in class, you’re very hard to ignore.”

Sherlock blushed. “Am I?”

“Well let’s see, for one, you questioned and corrected everything. And second, I thought you were the most attractive man I’d ever set eyes on. So I’d say that’s hard to ignore.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.” Sherlock pouted, looking near irresistible with the little crease between his furrowed brows.

“I’m not, Scout’s honor. I thought you were the most gorgeous thing on two legs. Still do in fact.”

Sherlock only blushed harder, and buried his face in John’s neck, his curls tickling the bottom of John’s chin. “So what you’re saying,” he said, his voice muffled, “is you would have made sure we met anyway?”

“Absolutely.”

“This means I didn’t need my diabolical scheme.”

“Diabolical scheme?” John frowned, what was the goofy sod talking about? “What diabolical scheme?”

“My long con,” Sherlock explained, moving so he was once again on his side facing John. “I paid Sebastian to rough me up a little so I could play the victim, thereby getting your attention, and eventually win your favor.”

John frowned further. Sherlock wouldn’t have…  No, there was no way… Even for him, that would have been reckless

“Oh my god, John!” Sherlock burst into a fit of giggles. Dear lord he was breathtaking when he laughed. “I was joking. You don’t honestly think I would have done that, do you?”

“I don’t know.” John said slowly, biting his lip to keep from laughing himself. “If anyone could pull it off, it’d be you.”

“I probably could.” Sherlock grinned wickedly, popping himself up on one elbow, and letting his other hand slide down John’s torso. “Though I can definitely think of something else I’d much rather ‘pull off.’”

John bit his lip to hold back a moan at the feeling of Sherlock’s hand, his long finger, ghosting over his rapidly hardening prick. “Oh Christ, Sherlock,” he gasped. “So I – I take it that’s your way of saying you’re ready for another go – go around?”

Slotting his legs between John’s, Sherlock rocked his hips against John’s thigh. Oh dear god, oh yes he was definitely ready for round two. “Does that answer your question?” He whispered.

“Perfectly.” John growled, pushing Sherlock back against the bed to pin him by the wrists, and thrusting his leg hard between Sherlock’s. “And just so you know, I’ve done quite a bit of endurance training, so I can go all night. I plan to go all night.”

“ _Nggh_ – I never thought – _uhha_ – never thought I’d say this – but thank god for football.” Sherlock panted, bucking his hips, struggling but not really struggling in John’s hold.

“You know,” John murmured, dropping his head to Sherlock’s, biting at his lips, dipping his tongue into his mouth, and kissing at his jaw, “no one’s going to believe – we’re only getting together – now. – Everyone already thinks – we’ve been shagging – all year – Mike’s convinced – we have china patterns – already all picked out.”

“Who cares – what everyone – _oh god_ – what everyone thinks?”

“Oh I don’t care.” John’s said, sucking Sherlock’s earlobe between his lips, and rolling his hips and dragging his length against Sherlock’s. “I just wanted to let you know that we have _a lot_ of time to make up for.”

“So get – _oh John – Oh – oh my god_ – _Oh my god John! –_ so get started.” Sherlock begged, starting to writhe beneath him. Christ he was gorgeous like that, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, his dark curls growing damp; his mouth open, gasping for air; his eyes, oh god his eyes…

“Well, if you insist.” John purred, and allowed himself to give into the desperate kisses, wanton cries, and clawing hands as he once again lost himself in Sherlock’s body, as they lost themselves in each other.

 

*******

 

It was a gentle, warm pressure moving along his eyebrow and down to trace his cheekbone, that stirred Sherlock from the gossamer haze of sleep. Kisses, someone was kissing him awake; he was being kissed awake by…

“John.” He hummed, opening his eyes find John lying next to him smiling. He looked softer in the morning light, he looked breathtaking.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” John said quietly, leaning in to place a kiss on Sherlock’s lips. “Sorry if I got a bit impatient, but you looked too good not to kiss.”

Last night had happened, it had really happened, it was all real. He had put his fears aside, and really admitted his feelings for John, and John had actually reciprocated. He had given himself over completely to John, allowed to John to hold him and take him. They reaffirmed their feelings over and over last night, exposing themselves to each other not just physically but also emotionally. They had shared several bouts of – frankly astonishing – sex, and they had fallen asleep just before dawn, wrapped around each other, the taste of each other’s kisses on their lips. It had really happened. He was John’s and John was his, it was real.

“It’s not my fault I needed a lie-in,” Sherlock grinned, stretching before rolling on top of John, “this incredibly fit footballer thoroughly wore me out last night.”

“Incredibly fit footballer, eh?” John laughed. “Should I be nervous?”

“Oh yeah. Not only is he unbelievably handsome and clever and fantastic in bed and oh so sexy, but he’s also super into me. And protective too, he hates to see a single hair messed on my head.”

“Unless he’s the one messing it, right?”

“Of course, he’s free to mess with any part of me he wishes.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“Nope, I’m the lucky one.” Sherlock sighed and lowered his head to capture John’s mouth in a proper kiss, allowing his lips to part and move with John’s.

“Good morning, John.” He smiled, several breathless kiss-filled minutes later.

“Well it sure is now!”

Sherlock blushed. “So I guess it’s safe to assume you didn’t change your mind since last night and decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Nope, my mind is set. I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me.” John grinned, and tightened is arms around Sherlock’s waist. “Not even an act of Parliament or Royal decree could keep me away from you.”

“Ugh,” Sherlock groaned burying his face in John’s neck. “Don’t say that too loud, Mycroft will hear you and take it as a personal challenge.” Meddlesome arse had his little bugs everywhere.

“Oh he can try, but he won’t succeed.” John laughed. “If you’re listen Mycroft, your brother is all mine now whether you like it or not! Lock me in irons, because I’m never giving him up!”

John's never giving him up, Sherlock felt his heart soar. “John, you are absolutely ridiculous,” he laughed.

“Only because you made me that way.”

 

They lay there holding each other, grinning and laughing together, for a few more minutes before Sherlock moved to sit up.

“Speaking of my family,” he said cautiously. “Umm… yesterday, my mother invited you to… ugh… to come with me when I go home next weekend…”

“She did, yeah.”

“Well, umm.” God, why was he so nervous? He had no reason to be so nervous. “You said you’d think about it, and I was wondering if you… I know it’s a bit early for the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing, but it wouldn’t have to be that kind of visit. We’ve been friends for a while, so it wouldn’t be strange for a friend to tag along, and now we’re… this. But we wouldn’t have to tell them, though I’d like to. Plus you were invited, and my mother never extends an invitation she doesn’t mean. I’m sure father would –”

Sherlock’s rant came to an abrupt end as John sat up and leaned forward, silencing him with a kiss.

“I believe somewhere in that jumble of words, you were trying to ask me something.” John chuckled.

“I – yes,” Sherlock blushed. “Would you like to accompany me when I go visit my parents for the long weekend?”

“Absolutely,” John grinned. “Visiting your parents, seeing where you grew up, your childhood bedroom, that sounds fantastic.” And then John was kissing him again.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief and gave himself over to the kiss. He hadn’t even realized how much it had been weighing on his mind.

“Good.” He nodded when the kiss eventually ended, some of his confidence restored. “Now that that’s settled, what are the plans for the rest of the day?”

“Well it’s nearly noon now,” John said, glancing at his bedside clock, “that means that the day is essentially half gone.”

“Half gone? John, in what world is noon on a Saturday the day being half gone?”

“The day is half gone,” John continued, a smirk creeping across his face, “so I say we scrap it and just stay right here all day. I say we not leave this bed. And since Mike’s not going to be back until tomorrow night, there’s no need for us to _keep our voices down._ ”

“Keep our voices down… Not leave this… Oh John, I like the way you think!” Sherlock beamed. And people called him the genius, his genius paled in comparison to John’s. Well, in some aspects at least.

“High praise coming from you. I’m honored!”

“You should be. But if we’re going to be keeping to this bed all day, we’ll need something to keep our energy up. I need some tea before we get started, do you want something?”

“Mmm, tea would be great, excellent for the vocal chords, thanks.”

“Be right back.” Sherlock blushed again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He was going to have to get used to John’s brazen flirting.

“Wait,” John said suddenly, halting Sherlock’s progression and curling himself around Sherlock’s back, wrapping his arms around his chest and resting his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I just want you to know,” he murmured, “I love you too.”

Sherlock froze. He couldn’t have heard that right. Surely his ears were playing a trick on him, there was no way that John Watson had just said that he…

“I heard you last night.” John continued, his hold loosening. “If you said it in the heat of the moment, I – I understand, you can just –”

“No!” Sherlock shook his head, coming back to himself and quickly turning in John’s arms. “No, it wasn’t said in the heat of the moment, I meant it. Do you… do you really love me too?”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“You think?”

“No, no I’m sure. Sherlock Holmes, I know that I love you, that I am in love with you. I love you, my brilliant, gorgeous, funny, impossible Bumble. I love you so much, I’m positively barking for you.”

John loved him. John Watson – handsome, funny, kind, smart, perfect, wonderful John Watson – was in love with him. It was all too good to be real. Maybe he’d been beaten up harder than he thought and was in a coma, maybe this was all just a beautiful coma dream. That was the only explanation for how he – Sherlock ‘The Freak’ Holmes – could have earned John’s love. He was in hospital somewhere, hooked up to machines, and his brain came up with a beautiful story about John  - perfect John – being in love with him and wanting to spend all day in bed with him.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you still in there?” Came John’s voice, breaking the flurry of thoughts whirling though Sherlock’s head.

Well, if it was a coma dream, he might as well make the most of it.

“I love – I’m in love with you too! I’m so in love with you!” Sherlock exclaimed, climbing back on top of John to straddle his hips, and kissing him with such ferocity that John ended up flat on his back.

“Whoa! Easy there, Tiger.” John laughed. “I really enjoy kissing you, so I’d like to maintain feeling in my lips!”

“Sorry, I just didn’t know how… I can’t believe… Really?”

“Yep, I really, really love kissing you, and so I really like my lips being able to actually feel when they’re kissing yours.”

“That’s not what I…”

“I know. And yes to that too.” John smiled his smile that Sherlock liked to think of as his ‘Sherlock only smile’. “I love absolutely everything about you; your mind, your passion, your sense of humor, everything. I even the annoying, almost getting us arrested, and making an utter mess of the flat, parts of you. I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock vision began to blur as he felt his eyes prickle, this was definitely a dream. “I love… I love everything about you too, even the annoying, ‘we should be careful’ and ‘cadavers need to stay in the anatomy lab’ parts of you.”

“Well I’m glad that’s settled.” John chuckled blinking away the wetness in his own eyes and cupping Sherlock’s cheek. “Now about that tea you were about to get us…”

“Oh I think tea is going to have to wait.” Sherlock smirked, rolling his hips and grinding himself against John through the cotton and silk of their pants. When the hell had the even put their pants back on? Why the hell had they even bothered? “I love you, John, and right now you and I need to see if morning sex is all it’s cracked up to be.”

 

~ 

 

As it turned out, morning sex was even better then it was cracked up to be. And after tea, some hastily thrown together sandwiches, and a very long and very indulgent shared shower, they discovered that early afternoon, mid-afternoon, late-afternoon, and evening sex were all pretty fantastic too. Then again, having sex with the man you’re in love with – doing anything with the man you’re in love with – was always bound to be pretty fantastic, no matter the time of day.

If that weekend taught John and Sherlock anything, it was that when you’re in love, just about everything is perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What'd ya think? Did I do good? Did I do right by our boys? 
> 
> Just the epilogue to go, so now would be a great time to head on down to the comment section and leave me a comment and/or correction. (I crave validation!)


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a year of bullies, broken ribs, self-defense lesson, getting to know each other and falling in love, Sherlock and John finally found happiness together. The real question is, with such a stressful courtship, can it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, we've survived 16 chapters of cliffhangers, cockblocks, oblivious idiots, and dozens and dozens of dino nuggets, but we made it! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this last chapter of 'Breaking The Grip'
> 
> (virtual tissues are available should you need them)

“Shit.” John grumbled, shifting the box in his arms as he struggled to unlock the door to his building. Honestly, what did they have to pick the building with the most annoying locking system – in order for the door to unlock you had to simultaneously turn both the key and a small lever to the left or else it wouldn’t budge. Did the designer not realize that perhaps people may not have both hands free when unlocking their door? Obviously not.

After several more attempts John gave up and just hit the buzzer.

“Yes?” Crackled Sherlock’s voice through the speaker embedded in the wall.

“Hey Love, it’s me. Can you buzz me in?”

“John? Don’t tell me you already lost your key. We’ve only been here two weeks.”

“Excuse me? I have never lost a key in my life!” At least never outside the flat, and never for more than ten minutes. “I have them right here, but my hands are kind of full and it’s just easier for you to let me in.” John hoped Sherlock could hear him sigh and sense him rolling his eyes through the intercom.

“Fine, I’ll let you in. You’ve gotten so lazy, John.”

John shook his head and chuckled to himself as the door buzzed and he pulled it open with his one semi-free hand. Over a year of ‘one hundred percent in’ with Sherlock and he was still utterly charmed by the ridiculous man, completely besotted with him.

They had recently moved in to a new flat – in the building with the world’s worst locking system – located about halfway between the university where Sherlock had just started his third year, and St. Bart’s Hospital where John was doing his clinical rotations. Although they had been living together officially for the entire year before the move when Sherlock ‘took over’ Mike’s bedroom when Mike moved in with Becca – the room never actually got slept in once Mike left so they had turned it into a makeshift lab/evidence room -  this new place felt wholly theirs. John knew he was probably just being sentimental and sappy, but they found it together, they chose it together; it wasn’t John’s flat where Sherlock had come to live, it was theirs together from the off and that made it special.

 

~

 

Sherlock was lying along the back of the couch, his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his chin, when John walked through the door of the flat. The man was a bloody cat.

John dropped his bag in the entry by the door and carefully placed the box he’d been carrying on the side table. “That can’t be comfortable,” he mused, eyeing Sherlock’s precarious position.

“I don’t mind. It helps me think.” Sherlock shrugged and puckered his lips, his eyes still closed.

“Sure it does,” John smirked, and strode over to drop a kiss to Sherlock’s waiting lips before moving to the kitchen. He had discovered that if he didn’t kiss his mad boyfriend within the first two minutes of either of them entering the flat, Sherlock would get stroppy for a good hour or so. But of all of Sherlock’s little quirks, it was the one John had the least objections to. John never had any objections to kissing Sherlock actually.

“So how’s the coagulation experiment going?” He called over his shoulder, taking care to avoid the sample trays as he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. They probably should invest in a mini-fridge or something; blood next to food was a bit not good.

“As well as to be expected. I found that the A positive samples respond much quicker to saliva than the other blood types, but the response time is temperature dependent. I need some more equipment to visualize it more accurately, though.”

“You need more equipment than what you already have? The table is essentially covered as it is; we’ve no place to eat!”

“Yes, this isn’t even half of what I would really want. And why does that matter if the table’s covered?” Sherlock frowned, sitting up on the back of the couch, his bare feet resting on the cushions, “we always just eat out here and use the coffee table.”

“I know, but it might be nice to sit at the table every once in a while like normal people.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have had this problem if we’d rented a place with two bedrooms like before.”

Ah yes, the one versus two bedroom discussion. If they’d been over it once, they’d been over it twenty times. Sherlock had wanted to rent another two bedroom flat so that he could have his lab room again, but John made the point – with which Sherlock had eventually agreed – that they were able to afford a better overall one bedroom for what they would have paid for a passable two bedroom.  If sacrificing the kitchen table was what John had to pay for in order to get a dishwasher, all included utilities, and a spacious bedroom, then he was fine with it. The annoying door locks were even worth it.

“I’ll tell you what,” John said, walking back into the sitting room to kneel on the couch, fitting himself between Sherlock’s legs, “when I’m a real doctor, and you’re a big shot detective –”

“Consulting detective.”

“Sorry, consulting detective. When all that happens, we’ll find flat with two bedrooms so you can have your lab again. That sound good?” He hummed, leaning in to brush his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock may have been the genius of the couple, but John still knew he could render Sherlock powerless with a well-timed and well placed kiss.

“Do you think you’ll still want to be with me when we get to that point?” Sherlock asked quietly, his voice barely above a mumbled whisper.

“Oh yes. I’m not giving you, remember?”

“Then fine, we’ll wait to get a bigger flat.” Sherlock sighed, and draped his arms around John’s shoulders, pulling him into a deeper kiss. Yep, the brilliant git was utterly powerless.

 

“Ok, I’ve waited long enough,” Sherlock said when the kisses eventually ended, “what do you have for me?” he asked.

“Have for you? What makes you think I have something for you?”

“The box, John, it’s obviously for me.”

“Oh right, that. And why do you think whatever’s in it is necessarily for you?” John grinned. Of course it was for Sherlock, John just liked hearing Sherlock’s train of thought. Two years on, and Sherlock’s deductions still sent a little thrill and wave of admiration through his body.

“Oh honestly,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “it’s clearly a gift or else you would have unpacked it yourself. It’s for me because you made a point of leaving it in the entry as opposed to bringing it into the flat proper. You also intend to give it to me now because it if was for some later occasion, you wouldn’t have left it out on the table and instead would have put it away. So…”

“Alright, fine.” John laughed. “Yes I got you something. You can think of it sort of as an anniversary gift.”

“Anniversary? It’s not our anniversary, our anniversary is in May. I know it is, I made a point of making a note in my calendar. And I know I put down the right date because we went out to dinner, and afterwards I remember thinking that I really really liked all the anniversary sex we had.”

“Ah yes, our official anniversary is in May, but we have a bunch of other anniversaries too.”

“We do?”

“Yep!” John beamed. “The anniversary of when we first saw each other, that’s today by the way. There’s the anniversary of when we formally met; of the first full day we spent together; our first case; the night of the championship game when we spent night together; our first kiss. And of course, the anniversary of when we actually got together, which is May.”

“Are we meant to celebrate all of them?” Sherlock asked sounding worried. “Because we didn’t last year, and I – I don’t have anything, I didn’t –”

“Sherlock. Hey Sherlock. Bumble, relax.” John chuckled, smoothing his hand through Sherlock’s curls. “It’s really just a coincidence I got your gift today. There’s no need for any formal acknowledgements for anything other than our official one. Honestly, I happened to notice the date and decided the anniversary as an excuse more than anything.”

“Oh… ok, good… So, what’s in the box?”

John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Alright, I know you’ve probably never even seen ‘Seven’, let alone make a reference to it, but you have no idea how appropriate that was.”

Sherlock just stared at him blankly. Yeah, definitely not a reference, John thought as he carefully lifted Sherlock’s gift from the padding, and hid it behind his back.

“Ok Sherlock, I’d like you to meet Mr. John Doe 48, circa 1895.”

“John!” Sherlock gasped, “that’s a –”

“Yep! You’re very own human skull. He was part of a skeleton who was set to be ‘retired’, and since we have no idea who he actually was, I didn’t really see the harm in the rest of Mr. Doe 48 being buried with a plastic skull.”

John watched as Sherlock turned the skull over and around, running his hands along the cranium, examining it from every angle.

“John, you stole me a skull.”

“Technically yeah, but –” The rest of John’s sentence was abruptly cut off as Sherlock launched himself off the couch, jumping into John’s arms, his legs wrapped around John’s waist, and began kissing John.

The force of Sherlock colliding with him, added to the vigor with which he was kissing him, caused John to take a few stumbling steps backwards to maintain his balance.

“Why is it that I’m always the one carrying you?” John asked breathlessly, still holding Sherlock tight. “You’re nearly a foot taller than me.”

“Six inches.” Sherlock corrected. “And I do it because you’re strong enough to hold me up, and you love it. Now be quiet, I’m trying to kiss you.”

“By all – means – So I take it – you like it?”

“Yes, John – it’s – perfect – I love it – I love you.”

“Love you – too.”

John stood there for a couple more minutes, Sherlock clinging to him, kissing him deeply, until his arms finally began to feel the strain. Sherlock wasn’t heavy by any stretch of the imagination, but he was tall, making him rather awkward to hold up for long. Now if he had Sherlock against a wall… Well, that was a different story all together.

“What do you say we find a place for Mr. Doe, then we take this to our room?” John suggested, tapping Sherlock’s hip – their universal ‘unlatch’ signal.

“I have a better idea.” Sherlock purred, letting his feet drop to the floor. “We put the skull on the bookcase – obviously – and then you and I break in this couch.”

“Break in the couch? Sherlock, this is the same one we had in the old flat, it’s definitely been broken in.”

“Well obviously,” Sherlock huffed, sounding exasperated, as if John were missing something glaring. “But it’s in a new location now, and that means it has to be broken in again. Think of it as my anniversary gift to you.”

Oh, obviously. But John couldn’t really argue with him, the couch was one of the few places where they had yet to have sex one way or another. Their very first night in the flat – before any of their furniture had arrived – they’d thrown down some pillows and blankets and thoroughly christened the sitting room floor. Sherlock had joined John in the shower earlier in the week, and their bed… Well in the two weeks since moving in, the bed had been christened about twelve times, nineteen times if you count those that occurred within a half hour of each other. It really wouldn’t be fair for the couch to miss out.

“I’m not one to turn down a gift, certainly not one as good looking as the one you’re offering.” John said, admiring the lines of Sherlock’s lean back as he placed the skull – later named Billy – safely on top of their bookshelf. “Now, hurry up and get over here.”

They undressed each other carefully, lazily running their hands along each other’s bodies, kissing every new bit of exposed skin, before falling on to the couch in a naked tangle. Every time they’ve made love, it was new, and special; sometimes fast and rough, fueled by lust and desperation, and other times drawn out and careful, fueled by love and devotion. This time they made love slowly, worshiping each other, drawing out each other’s pleasure until it was overwhelming and they came to their shuddering climaxes simultaneously. Needless to say, the couch was effectively broken in by the time they were finished that evening and retreated to their bed.  

 

~ 

 

That night, the night of their second ‘first time we saw each other’ anniversary, the night Billy the Skull came to live with them, was just one night in a lifetime of nights for John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. They had a lifetime ahead of them, a future that held a lot of change. Eventually John would become a real doctor, and Sherlock would become the world’s only consulting detective. Eventually they would move into a two bedroom flat, and Sherlock would get his own home lab. Eventually they would become London’s most famed crime solving duo, and the bane of London’s criminal underclass. Eventually they would take down a master villain, and have to save each other from hundreds of near misses. And eventually they would give each other their names, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes becoming Dr. and Mr. Watson-Holmes.

But that night, the night of their second ‘first time we saw each other’ anniversary, they didn’t know any of this. All John Watson knew as he lay in bed that night was that he had found the love of his life, and his love for the man in his arms - his Bumblebee - grew deeper and stronger with every passing moment. And all Sherlock Holmes knew was that nothing on Earth could ever make him happier than he was with the man holding him, the man who loved him and showed him what love meant and what love could do. Against all odds, they had found each other, and they were safe and loved, and everything was perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has read, kudo'd, and commented on this story. It's the longest thing I've ever written (I added about 5000 more words as I was editing!) and I really enjoyed writing it, so I really hope you enjoyed reading it. 
> 
> A special thank you and tray of dino nuggets to those of you who left comments on almost every chapter. Seeing those notices and seeing you actively enjoying my work (even when you were cursing me), made it all worth it, and makes me want to keep writing!
> 
> And now for a special surprise, I've written a one-shot, peek further into the future, snapshot into their lives, second epilogue/sequel! It's pure fluff inspired by one line I wrote in this chapter with no serious plot. I just love John and Sherlock and I can't stop writing them. It'll be posted Friday, so look out for that!!!
> 
> Thank you all again from the bottom of my heart! 
> 
> xx  
> Ellie/Jens


	18. Sequel / Second Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT AN ACTUAL CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably delete this after a few days

I just wanted to let anyone who may be interested know that I've just posted the one-shot sequel / second epilogue to this fic!

It's called [Age Before Beauty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8172376), please check it out if you want to see more of this particular incarnation of our favorite crime solving dummies!

Thanks!

Ellie/Jens xx


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